The Pendulous Fall
by TheJauntyJabberwock
Summary: Supernatural forces come to Gotham. Has Scarecrow bitten off more than he can chew? Will the heroes solve the mystery in time to save the girl, and the city? I'm bad at these summary things, read to find out. (somehow this got deleted before so I'm re-uploading it. Also features Etrigan/Jason Blood later.).
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This story is a bit of a slow burn as I like build up, but it is COMPLETE and should read like it's own comic book run. As in I specifically worked to make this a style that would make it easily adaptable to either a mini-movie, or compiled comic. The first several chapters focus mostly on Crane because he's the canon I feel most confident writing for.

It's rated to be on the safe side for violence and future disturbing themes. Feel free to leave critique, there is always room for improvement. I also enjoy hearing your thoughts as you read so I know if I'm leaving the desired impression.

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There was nothing interesting about a meek little mouse, homicide ward or not most were quick to find her unresponsive nature a bore. Yet, on this dreary afternoon with the rain pelting the world outside and window panes high above them, the Scarecrow found himself eyeing the young woman. Probably from boredom. He had been locked away behind these concrete walls for what must have surely been months. He had already delved into the psyches of the other inmates, drudged up their terrors and anticipated their anxieties. It was to be expected that he would do the same for this new inmate as well, particularly when he had every notion the abysmal simpletons refereed to as doctors of this establishment would continue disappointing him. So it was he had begun to examine the fresh meat, as the other inmates phrased it, casually from over the top of the books he had been allowed.

She hadn't said a word since she'd been committed, the youth in question. Average height and build for what must have been a barely twenty-something girl. Which was to say a good deal shorter than himself (five foot four perhaps?), it was actually a bit difficult to tell body type given the baggy clothing, so he didn't bother to guess such an unimportant detail. The Arkham uniform remained long sleeves and pant legs never slashed or ripped or tied up for customization as the other female inmates liked to do. She wasn't catatonic, she walked of her own accord and occasionally might flick eyes to a target from underneath long and ever unkempt hair before they returned to the floor.

She failed to remained oblivious to the notice of all inmates. Harley had sat with her for an entire afternoon once, blabbing away about everything and nothing and braiding the girl's long locks with only casual fuss that the girl should clean it better. Jervis sat with her on another day and when given no name he resorted to calling her Alice, which she made no response to or effort to correct. Crane had frowned at this development, knowing it would be no good for his sometimes cohort in crime. No doubt the therapists, if they had any mind what so ever, would see to correcting the development before it got out of hand. Then again, they had unquestionably failed at simpler tasks in the past. She gave Jervis and Harley each just as much as any other inmate. Nothing more than, at best, a flick of her eyes in response to any prodding inquiry.

Of course, they lacked Crane's particular intellect and training. He picked up clues from examination alone. He wasn't surprised of course with who took notice, the two had always been more kind among the crowd. Still villains to be sure, but Harley was always polite and addressed him with his proper titles. Jervis, while annoying at times with his constant talk of the fantastical Wonderland, still all be told wasn't as bad as the rest. And no doubt not as bad as Crane himself. The two seemed genuinely curious about her, where as he was simply pondering what would drive the mousy thing here and what, as a result, would be her greatest terrors. Was she truly mute? Or choosing not to speak from trauma? Crane intended to find out. It was all but expected, and the Master of Fear would hate to disappoint.

On this particular day Harley and Jervis each had settled in beside her, Jervis running a brush through the other half of her knotted hair and Harley braiding the side which had already been made smooth. Both seemed content to chatter off completely different conversations. Harley was talking about how she couldn't wait for Ivy or Joker to come home, she was certain Joker would be coming to bust her out any day after all and sighing in reverence for her "puddin". Jervis on the other hand was rambling a mile a minute about, what else, Wonderland. As she had made the mistake of not correcting his assignment of her role, he had already inserted her into his delusions, and was speaking at length of the adventures they would go on. Crane had read each of the books allowed to him a hundred times a piece, so it was easy to pick up these conversation pieces. Though he could have easily guessed the topics without so much as glancing their-

She was looking at him. This was a first. Or perhaps, more accurately, looking steadily at the book in his hands. When she noticed he was looking up her gaze returned swiftly to the floor in front of her feet. Well, he took it as invitation enough, closing the book and rising from his seat. He easily towered over most, but all the more so when those he approached sat perched upon the floor. Imposing (if lanky) form, some would at least have enough sense to grow unnerved with his presence, but the two only gave him day-dreaming smiles.

"Hey-yah professor!" Harley chirped, "Come to join us?"

"I was just telling Alice here all about what awaits us outside!" Jervis was pleased enough, but at last Harley made a face at him.

"I'm pretty sure that's not her name-"

"Of course it is! Isn't it, Alice?" He took silence as confirmation and returned to brushing out her hair. "Alice" hadn't looked up at Crane with the others, she didn't glance up until he had knelt down and held out the book in both hands. Her full attention was on the text as he spoke, his voice low and calm compared to the excited chattering of her current companions.

"Do you like to read?" The gaze alone answered beyond words, hungry and all consumed by the vision. Fingers twitched with a desire to reach out for the object, but she restrained herself and gave instead the barest nod. He returned the nod and extended the book closer to her, where upon her hands lifted to take it from him. Slowly, as if waiting for him to snatch it back from her grasp at any moment. Once obtained, it was handled with gentle reverence. She did not say thank you. Not with voice and not with gaze. Instead she opened the pages eagerly and began to read, which he supposed was its own kind of gratitude.

"They won't let me have a copy of Lewis Carroll's works, but I'll see if they can't get you a copy." Jervis was perfectly excited by the idea, and it seemed the mouse had heard him enough to give a nod as well, which pleased him all the more.

For the day, however, their time in the recreation room was finished, it was time to return to their cells. The girl kept the book cracked as she was marched back, not willing to set it aside for a moment. And so they had discovered a form of communication. It was a start to be sure. This should prove an amusing side endeavor before his next escape and plots. Once he could convince the mouse to squeak, he could convince it to scream. An idea which brought a positively sinister smile to his lips as he was set once more into his cell. Yes, this should prove to be very fun indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Song for this chapter: Kamelot's The Human Stain.

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Jervis was upset. In one small part because the therapists had refused his request to get "Alice" a copy of the books he was obsessed with. In another part because he was now forbidden to speak with "Alice" or to be within ten feet of her due to their rightful concern for what he might be planning for the girl. Needless to say Jervis made no effort to hide the offense he took to this, speaking loudly to who so ever would listen (and a few who actively tried to avoid him) about how rude it was for them to assume his intentions to be anything but that of a gentlemanly nature. To which Crane could only smirk into the pages of Poe and catch the occasional forlorn glance of his friend.

She had finished the first book by the next day, breaking her previous routine to shuffle over to where Crane sat and hold out the book for him in both hands. She still didn't look him in the face, dull green eyes set ever at her feet. These physical attributes in combination with her silence for his educated mind confirmed that she had suffered some form of prolonged abuse. Skittish and closed off, carefully controlled. Though evidently not controlled enough to keep from winding up here. Another piece of the puzzle in place, he smiled and took the book back, offering two more in its place. She accepted with another nod, and shuffled right back to her usual spot to read. If the context of the horrific finds he handed to her had any effect, it did not show. On the contrary she seemed to devour each with the fervent cravings of a gothic teenager, though she didn't look the part.

She wasn't afraid of the passages he gave her. She wasn't afraid of the guards or other inmates thus far. She wasn't afraid of him. Not yet. He began going over the lists in his head, pondering which phobia she might be subject to. He had pressed several spiders into the pages of one of the books she now read, but when she found them she only gently brushed the corpses aside to continue reading. Not arachnophobia. On one of the days when she came to exchange the books he withheld the next batch to show her instead a small rodent he had captured. She didn't show any interest in the creature and instead waited for the exchange patiently. No, vermin and insects were not the rout to take. He arranged some time ago for her to be startled in the cafeteria, but that too failed to garner even so much as a squeak or a jump. She had taken recently to sitting in her eternal silence next to him during the cafeteria visits, though unlike the others his attempts to initiate conversation were few and far between. A perfectly casual inquiry as to how she was enjoying the novels, for which he would receive as ever nothing more than a small nod.

If only he could get to some of his serum, he knew there was a small batch within the confiscated gear and wardrobes which served as the identities for so many of them. Though a piece of him was enjoying the extra work. How many fellow inmates over the years had chided him for his reliance upon his tools? Only to be proven dead wrong? No, the Master of Fear would have his prize in the end, and he could be perfectly patient about it. Until she opened up, he could continue with the process of elimination. Her presence was scarcely intrusive, after all. The only real annoyance came in the form of Jervis harassing him at the opportunities given to get her a copy of Carroll's work, and asking to relay messages from him, and asking how she was doing with only the occasional hint of possessiveness which was eased by the reminder that Crane was not the one responsible for the instructed space between them. After a few days of this treatment he finally settled to tell his friend he would indeed be sure she got a good copy, and Jervis was pleased enough to set the issue aside for the time.

If he were being honest with himself, he might admit that the company was almost something verging on pleasant. Almost. She was clearly bright, beyond her reticence. As eager as himself at that age to devour new material. Curious of her capabilities once she grew comfortable enough to sit beside him, he gave her some academic books akin to what he might assign for an entrance level lecture. Unlike the works of fiction, these she took much longer to finish, and at times she would look his way and point at a concept or idea she seemed to be struggling with. For the most part she tried to figure it out, but sometimes she would have to go back a few pages and ask in her own way for assistance. Which he indulged, and would be granted a nod as she grasped the concepts. He would like to think this silent study and enthusiasm for even the academic work was a reflection of her own desires, as apposed to an activity indulged to fill the empty hours. In his many years, however, he had learned the difficult way not to cling to such ideas.

So things had gone. After a week she began to sit with him at breakfast. After two weeks she had taken to sitting on the sofa next to him, each silently indulged in their books. On rare occasion he caught her glancing at him, poised to speak before barely parted lips returned to their drawn line and her attention returned to the texts. Progress. From what he had heard, this was more than her assigned therapist had managed, though said woman had attempted to ride on his own progress in an attempt to communicate herself. It was only a matter of time now. He didn't have a new doctor to torment yet, not after he drove the last to early retirement, so hers would have to do. The thought of the poor struggling therapist growing ever more frustrated with each silent session she gave them was wonderfully amusing, as was how cross they would no doubt be to realize an inmate was more accomplished than themselves.

And then the Joker returned. No, he didn't just get dropped off by the Bat, he turned himself in. To say all were on edge was an understatement, as everything else the Clown Prince of Crime did he had the full attention of the guards. While all employees within the walls knew the risk of the job and did as was their instructed duty, it didn't mean they could prevent themselves from expecting the worst. Harley was the first to greet him when he entered the recreation room, squealing with delight and rushing into his arms.

"Puddin! Welcome hooooooome!" he offered her a smile that was notably less enthused. She took it like every other scrap he tossed her, and Crane stuck his nose further into his book in an attempt to go unnoticed. Harley was a good girl, he often found himself thinking she deserved better than the likes of the Joker, but her heart was set. She wouldn't hear reason, and he certainly wasn't going to speak up about it. None of his business, really.

"Heeeey, who's the fresh meat?" Joker was already leaning over the back of the couch and shoving a digit roughly into the girl's cheek. Crane still didn't know her name, but the Joker made him wince to be sure. It was the same tone he had grown up with. Trouble was coming, and if he knew what was good for himself he would keep his mouth shut and let her face this on her own.

"Another book-worm? How boring!" If mouse knew who the Joker was, she made no sign of it. She responded to the prod the same as every other forced physical contact to date. Which is to say, she didn't.

"She's not boring! She's Alice!" Jervis had pipped up with flushed cheeks in anger, but the moment the Joker's smile faltered and he wheeled to look down on the blond man the anger melted into meek disposition.

"What was that?"

"...I, nothing." instantly the Joker's crazed grin was right back into place.

"Alice, hu?" his laughter grated across the empty walls and made a few of the guards jump, if slightly, as he turned back to her. Harley had skipped on up to the other side of her and set to stroking the mess of hair, which hadn't seen a brush it looked like since Jervis had stopped providing.

"I'm talking to you, kid." Joker's voice gained that hint of irritation, gripping her chin roughly and forcing her to look back and up at him, though even now her gaze remained far from the clown's face. Crane's spoke up then, perfectly calm,

"She doesn't talk. Not to anyone." Wrong move, the ever erratic villain wasted no time in dropping her face so as to turn on Crane instead.

"I'm not anyone!" It wasn't the first time, though at least in this instance the Joker didn't wield a chair with fierce ambition. No, this time he only landed a solid punch into the spindly man's jaw and let loose riotous laughter as he fell from his seat. Both held up hands so the guards knew that was all. No reason to put themselves at risk as well stepping forward, the conflict was already over and done with.

Or so they thought. The girl closed her book and set it down. Her expression was as blank as ever when she stood from the couch. Crane watched as she stepped around him and moved to stand in front of the nightmare known as the Joker. She didn't shuffle. She walked. Crane watched in some interest as she stopped and laced her hands behind her back, looking right up into the face of the taller deranged man. Harley also watched from just behind him in idle curiosity. The only one who seemed genuinely concerned for her in this moment was Jervis, who couldn't quite bring himself to speak up but was certainly looking panicked and trying to motion for her to get away from the mad man and well known murderer.

"You got something to say?" Joker even turned an ear and leaned down for the smaller girl, manic smile painted over his face,

"You're going to have to speak up! You going to defend your boyfriend?" peels of laughter with his joke, a giggle from Harley, he almost didn't notice the shiv in her hand, coming for his face. Crane held his breath, it wasn't fast enough. Joker caught her wrist and his voice dropped a few octaves. His grin remained.

"Now that's not very nice. Do you think I'll let this go? I bet you think a pretty face can let you get away with anything..." he was reaching for that face, the guards moving forward to stop the unfolding scene, but it happened too quickly.

She dropped the hand-made knife from one hand to catch it in the other. Staring the Clown Prince of Crime dead on in the eyes, she didn't stab him. She responded to his jab about her looks by opening her mouth and inserting the blade against one cheek. He'd said it as a slap to the face. She wasn't pretty at all, but still the blade was against her own cheek. His eyes widened as she slashed through the skin, red spray finding his pale skin and preparing to do the other just as quickly before the guards tackled each of them to the ground. Each were dragged from the room, the Joker laughing as he went and blood trailing behind as she was pulled from the room. The Joker hadn't pulled the weapon, though there was little doubt the guards would find some other excuse to throw him into solitary.

"Mistah J!" Harley tried to trot right out after him, was stopped at the door, though it took two guards just to force her to stay. Crane picked himself up as a worried Jervis moved over to him.

"Alice...she'll be alright, won't she?" he didn't question the behavior itself, it was a wonder he didn't quote We're all mad here.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Crane picked himself up from the floor. So she wasn't afraid of clowns. She wasn't afraid of the Joker. She didn't even flinch when she sliced through her own face! Just what was this girl afraid of? Crane's teeth grit as he collected the books into a neat stack. He would find out. When she returned from the infirmary, he would find out. One way or another, even if he had to get a hold of his toxins to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Casual reminder I love knowing how people are reacting to stuff. Next chapter will switch perspectives.

* * *

He couldn't say he missed her. Nor would he give any credence to the whispers and rumors now flying about the ordeal thanks to the Joker's snide remark. Girlfriend? Any sensible adult would know better, though Arkham was not exactly known for hosting the sensible sort. Defending him? Ridiculous. He didn't need any such behavior. If anything this only verified how unstable she was, and swiftly put an end to any scrutiny of why such a well behaved girl was placed among them to begin with. No, he paid the whispers little mind, nose in his book as he preferred it.

"My Alice is just a good person is all. Can't tolerate injustice-" Jervis had been quick to defend the actions, so long as Joker wasn't close enough to hear him. Which, given Joker's time in solitary confinement, left Jervis little to worry about beyond someone informing the Joker of the behavior later. Life went on in the asylum as it always did. It wasn't as if any of them were strangers to violence. Even the mute mouse had been carrying a weapon with her all along, for all the good it had done. Not everyone could have as effective tools at their disposal as Crane, who even now smirked as he fingered the bindings on his book. Hidden within was the small amount of his toxins he had recovered. Not enough for something large, but just enough should he require it.

Time passed, everyone's attention swiftly shifting after the little drama to what the Joker might be planning and how they might be able to benefit from it. Yes, it was certain that soon the inmates would run the asylum once more, if briefly. Some of them would even manage to escape altogether before the Bat could make it to stop them. All they had to do was wait, or help should the clown approach them. Crane was decidedly off any such helper list, Joker had no need of his skills it would seem. He wasn't offended, he knew he would reap benefits from what ever chaos was to come all the same. In anticipation for the coming storm, he almost didn't notice that there was something off about his cell when he was returned to it for lights out. Almost. He allowed the intruder to believe they had the upper hand, while preparing his vial for use and climbing onto the bed of his cell.

"I know you are there. Come out, little mouse." he very much doubted it was anyone for some kind of revenge for the clown. Joker didn't care two licks about Crane, his eyes on a bigger prize. Besides, few inmates would be stupid enough to come after any of the rogues gallery, let alone the Scarecrow. Alone though he may always be. Shuffling sounds beneath the bed, small arms spilled out across the floor, fingers attempting as best they could to dig into the floor before dragging the rest of the body outwards. Small and familiar shape. He hadn't expected it to genuinely be the mouse. She turned on the stone floor and crossed legs, glancing up through the hair she still cared so little for, clutching something to her chest. He gave a small smile, if a bit teasing,

"Have you come to speak to me?" he likewise didn't expect the nod. Oh? So even in all of that mess the progress had been made. He adjusted his position and slid the vial back into his sleeve, not needing it after all. His eyes were already adjusting to the dark, the only light that of the few scattered lights in the hallway and the illumination from the window above with the ever present floodlights outside. It was more than enough to see the healing gash across her skin and stitches still holding it together. Her mouth opened several times, only to close again, looking less like a mouse and more like a fish out of water gasping for air.

After several attempts, she held out the book clutched to her chest to him. One brow arched as he extended skeletal fingers to retrieve it, noting it was no book he had lent her. No, this was a good deal older, the cover unassuming and label that of a bird watching manual. Was this a clue of some kind?

"You're going to have to learn to talk eventually, if your vocal chords are capable." he commented idly as he shifted through the pages. This was not a bird watching manual. What he could make out in the poor light within were scripts and symbols and instructions, many in a language he was unfamiliar with. He had noted the way she devoured the books of monsters and horror, joked in his own mind about Gothic teenagers with a morbid fascination in death. He was almost disappointed that she had passed him a spell book. Unimpressed to say the least. His gaze returned to her and he made no attempt to hide this expression when she spoke at last. Soft, difficult, hoarse. He almost couldn't make out the words fully in their weakened wheeze.

"I know...how to talk." So she did. He closed the tome of superstition and set it beside him. He'd never been a man for religious dribble, throwing out biblical quotes only when it served to mock those who genuinely held the scriptures to be sacred.

"So I see. Do you also have a name?" She gave a nod, and took another moment to force the sounds to escape her throat.

"Jessica." He gave a nod at the introduction, stippling his fingers with a curt nod.

"Jessica. My name is Professor Jonathan Crane, though my associates know me as the Scarecrow." she too gave a nod, tongue playing dangerously at the stitches as she pondered the next thing to say.

"They say," another pause, her voice gaining gradual strength as it was used, "you're the master of fear." Ah, so she had heard of him? He had to smirk, leaning back upon the mattress and into the shadows further. Where as before his voice had been easy, calm, inviting, she had wondered into his room. Into his domain, knowing who he was. This time when he spoke it held no such welcome, but a dangerous undertone granted from years of experience.

"So I am. Is this what you came to speak to me of?" absent minded he had begun to play with the vial in his sleeve. If she were to let out a scream it would alert the guards and their little chat would be over. Was her unpracticed voice capable of the feat? He wanted to find out.

"I wanted to say thank you. For the books. I have enjoyed them." his fingers paused on their plaything.

"You could have said as much at any moment. Why chose now to speak?" he already knew the answer, of course, he only wanted to hear it from her own lips. Confirmation from the source. Her gaze found the door in response to his question. Avoidance. Anxiety? It appeared she once more had to fight to produce the words. Was this a symptom of the very emotion he had been searching for within her? The probability drove him to lean forward, observing every twitch more closely than ever. She refused to answer and let the air remain still.

"What are you afraid of?"

Despite her avoidance of gaze the words came steady, if needing effort still to force from hoarse throat.

"I'm not. It's a learned behavior. A habit." Now that was a lie. Such a habit had to have been taught, and enforced no doubt. Even if she didn't feel it now (another lie he suspected), or wasn't aware she felt it, it had existed once. The affects lingered still. Now, they were getting somewhere. He leaned back, and adopted the tone of voice he had used when he posed as a school counselor. The same tone he had used to line up Lindsay to take the right path in the face of the bullies in her life. The difference here being that they both knew what he truly was. Here, he had no need to pander.

"Who did you kill?" he spoke it matter of fact, chuckling at her silent reaction, "Don't give me that look, answer the question." For the first time her gaze remained steady on eye contact, a touch of defiance to the carefully crafted mask.

"It doesn't matter now." Well it wasn't an outright denial. He watched as she began to pick at the hems of her pants.

"I thought it would make me feel better."

"And did it?" he had done what he could to guide people like her to the path, but he had never been able to follow up with them after. Most had rejected his methods altogether. It was...interesting to be following up with someone he hadn't had to coach himself.

"No," a frown found his face, "It's not enough."

She reached for the book he had set aside, clutching it to her chest again.

"You and Jervis have both been kind to me. But one of you is hiding from conflict. And one of you deals with it." So she had chosen to speak with him. His gaze drifted over the book in her hands, unable to resist the contempt he felt for it.

"And you're going to deal with it using that?"

"Yes."

"Superstition is a tool against the weak minded. Magic isn't facing your problems, it's running from them. Putting your faith into an unreal force and empty prayers won't get you anywhere. Chemistry. Psychology. Science. Those are reliable tools." when he received only a blank stare he continued.

"It takes hard work to get ahead. Years of study, experiments, overcoming all number of failures. You think you can take an easy way out and play pretend to get what you are after?" She smiled.

"Would you teach me then? If I decided I preferred your methods? How long would it take to see results?" He considered the questions. He had been a teacher for years, and had already begun the process here. He had to confess, he would have liked to have a proper student. One who actually agreed with his methods and took to the lessons with invested interest of their own accord. She had already proven more than capable.

Jessica was damaged, that much was obvious. So were each of them in their own way. He didn't know the full story here, but being the one to ask showed more promise than the others. She wasn't stable, the gash across her face proved as much, but she showed promise for intelligence. She could be molded. His gaze drifted over her face with this contemplation. It was possible. Perhaps he had been too hasty in assuming there were none who would take up the title after him.

"I could. I have had students before, though none have proved able to stomach the truest lessons. It will be hard work, I do not hand out grades. You will have to earn them. If you are diligent enough, you could expect to see results in," he gauged her interest and what she had shown so far, "as little as a year." though it would of course take much longer indeed if she would have any interest in achieving what he had accomplished. Perhaps, in carrying on the title when he was gone.

Though his face remained practiced in its neutrality, he was already imagining a wardrobe and pondering out possible code names. It was perfectly human, after all, to desire a protege. To want, whether you admit it or not, someone to look up to you and take after the path you have blazed.

"That's not soon enough," the words were spoken with finality, "I need faster results, though the burden will be heavier. All things require sacrifice." His gaze narrowed upon her as she stood. It was also perfectly human to be enraged when denied what you wanted, especially when the other had been brazen enough to offer it to begin with. Just who did she think she was?

"Important deadline?" he managed the inquiry through grit teeth, grip tightening on the vial.

"Yes. Even I can only take so-"

He cut her off, no longer interested in the reasons. Towering over her helped, he moved forward and was delighted to see her move back, the small enough cell giving her little room before her back was pressed to the wall.

"No one is immune to fear. Even if you do not admit to it," he removed the cap to the vial, holding it in front of her and noting how the green brightened her own eyes upon it, "it is there." At first he thought of simply forcing it upon her in his fury, but as always his cool demeanor quickly won over the fleeting strength of emotions. She still wasn't afraid. Not of him, and not of the vial in his hands. Did she know what it was? What it would do? He guessed not for the focused gaze upon it.

"The only way to get passed what terrifies you, is to face it." Despite her refusal, the gaze that so briefly flicked up to his words was the same. Respect. With the added rejection it only made his stomach knot, but he held out the vial all the same.

"I'm not scared. I'm empty."

"Lets put that to the test." She watched the vial, gaze growing curious instead of cautious. Just like that, he'd caught the mouse in his trap. She reached out to take it, head tilting to the side ever so slightly, favoring the unmarred cheek.

"Do I drink it?" inhaling it would work just as well, but he gave a nod and allowed her to tip her head back with the contents. With a victorious grin he took the vial from her before she could drop it, watching as the effects took little time to take hold.

Of course she wasn't immune. In the end, no matter the bravery she showed in the face of even the Joker, like the Bat she was only human. The mask began to peal back, to flake away and reveal the raw emotion beneath. Breath became shallow, pupils dilated, he reached out to feel the pulse at her wrist and had just enough time to know it was speeding up before she twisted out of his grasp and slid to the side, dropping her book and thumping lightly into the door.

"I told you, everyone has something to fear." he sounded perfectly calm, this situation being his realm of control. He knelt down when she slid down the wall, eyes quickly jumping from one place to another.

"What do you see?" he inquired, knowing full well she was capable of making noise now. For every attempt he had made to startle or alarm her before, directly or indirectly, which had yielded no results, she was whimpering now. Squeezing her eyes shut, hands coming up to tug at her matted hair.

"No, answer the question. What. Do. You. See?" He accented each word with a shake to force her to open her eyes and gaze around. Tears began to fall despite how she had already begun to piece the mask back together as best she could.

"Fear?" Her words were a hoarse whisper again.

"Yes?"

"is the air we breathe." she was trying to squirm back and away but the door prevented her, growing more desperate to escape. "When you're scared all the time-" she had to pause, squeeze her eyes shut again, catch her breath. She was shaking, and still hadn't admitted any actual cause. She flinched when he touched her. Her breaths came quick and shallow. She did her best to writhe away from him, and he was beginning to think perhaps having her drink it would prove to have been a bit much. She was evidently too panicked to respond, content instead to curl up into a ball and quietly sob. He only just made out the stifled words between breaths, "I wish I was a monster." And not a very human girl reduced to facing her own psyche. He was still no closer to finding out what she was afraid of, only that she could be afraid at all. No amount of easing words would calm her down enough to speak clearly now, not with the toxins coursing through her veins.

She didn't even cry loudly, the occasional sob soft. Resigned. For a brief second, he saw himself where she was curled up, his much younger self. Not yet with the power he wielded now. Ignorant as yet of the tools which would come to be his trade. For a moment, he wondered if this had been the right thing to do. Or if he had become the thing he hated, the very bullies and tormentors he had sworn and later achieved vengeance against. Uncomfortable line of thought, he swiftly turned to the door and began to rap. Being tall enough to look out the small window pane into the hallway, he pounded away until at last the guard appeared to demand he stop.

"Gladly, if you'd be so kind as to take this one to the medical wing. She's going to need it." An antidote to his toxins, he meant. He knew they had those on tap by this point.

"What?! Take who-" the guard let out a loud sigh, calling for back up, "if this is some kind of prank you're the one who's going to need medical. Step to the back of the cell and put your hands on the wall." when another security guard arrived they opened the door.

"Jesus Crane, how did this even happen?"

"Isn't she supposed to still be in medical?" they promptly decided they didn't get paid enough for all the details, removing her with little resistance from Crane himself, who was not stupid enough to assume this would be a good time to make a break for it.

He lost his recreation time for the stunt. Jessica would be fine, no doubt. He had no doubts there would be an entirely new rumor mill now, as everyone no doubt wished to know how she got in there in the first place. He didn't much care. Seeing the brave little mouse shaking as she was pulled from the cell wasn't the same as a scream, but it would do. As far as he was concerned, his brief stint of amusement had well run its course. He had already put out of his mind the interaction, the possibility offered and then denied to him. He didn't want a student so set to place empty faith before hard science anyways. She didn't deserve what he had to offer. And of course he wasn't anything like the bullies he had taught better, she had taken the fear serum from him willingly after all. She had no one to blame for the results but herself. He had more important things to focus on now. Such as whatever the Joker was planning, for which he meant to be prepared when the time arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Jessica's perspective.

* * *

It had always been this way. She was used to it. Lies for stray marks or silence, learned when asking for help earned her harsher reprimand. She learned long ago that silence made it end quicker, made those seeking her for amusement grow bored more easily. It wasn't that it didn't hurt, of course she felt pain. She had just learned how to keep her mouth shut and her gaze steady. Because the truth was, it didn't matter if she screamed or not. No one would save her. If she wanted out, she had to make herself an out. She wasn't surprised in the result their either. Any time she had stepped out of line before, even spoken out of turn, she'd been the one punished for it. So of course they didn't buy self-defense. Of course they didn't care what had been done to earn it. She knew better than to even try to convince them. Now she was surprised to be sent to Arkham instead of prison. Not that it made a difference where she wound up.

The only thing that mattered, was that she didn't have power here either. If she tried to fight, they could just use sedatives, or whatever other mind-numbing drugs they had full right to administer without question. And she couldn't afford that, she needed her mind. So when Robert first started to come to her cell, she put up no fight. She gave him the same amount of responsiveness she had given everyone else, which was no doubt why he came. He knew she would not speak up against him, knew no one would believe her if she did. She was sure those in the cells beside her knew, but they too said nothing. She was sure she wasn't the only one, but he seemed selective in who received his attention. He was careful. He never left any marks. No bruises to show where he'd been. On the contrary, the way he spoke and behaved she got the impression he genuinely thought she was happy for the attention. She wasn't. The way he smiled and acted like he was doing her a favor only made the nausea inducing hatred inside her burn all the harsher.

She pulled herself upright from the mattress, eyes well adjusted to the dark. She had left her book in the Professor's cell. Not on purpose, it had been dropped in the hallucinogenic haze, and he obviously wasn't allowed anywhere near her since. He'd been sent to solitary confinement, she had heard. Not initially but after they evaluated it the next day. If she had spoken up and informed them she drank the vial of her own accord, she wondered if it would ease the punishment, but there was little point to that now. They were all powerless here. That was the point. Just like in the world outside, those in charge could do as they pleased, and their job as inmates was to take it.

These thoughts ran through her mind as she moved to the wall panel and pried the edges free, sliding away the cover to remove the contents she had smuggled and hidden away within. They weren't exact by any means, but they were the best she could do in this environment. She hoped it would be enough, that the text and sacrifice were more important than the alter arrangement. She knew some spells could have any number of replacement ingredients, but not all. Thankfully she had memorized the text, drawing the symbols in crayon upon the hard floor with no hesitation. How many times had she read the spell? Contemplated it as a solution for her burdens? Hope. It was the only thing that had made her set the book down so many times. The only thing that kept her in line for so long. She had hoped it would get better. Everyone always said that. Wait it out. It wasn't the end of the world, and there was no sense throwing away her future.

But she had no future. There was nothing to keep her from the rite. She had never done any of the curses in her mother's tome, for she knew they had prices to be paid. It wasn't worth it, she had convinced herself over and over again while glancing over the book. Sometimes she wondered if her mother had done it. Had done something which cost her life, and if the curse of it had passed down to herself once her mother was gone. It didn't matter now. The symbols were drawn, the items set in their proper places. She held the point in one hand, it had taken so long to sharpen, and stared down at the work.

She told herself she wasn't afraid. So why was it so difficult to summon her voice in the darkness? She told herself she wouldn't hesitate, for she had nothing left to lose. So why was her hand shaking, as she lifted the point to press against her neck? This would work, or it wouldn't. She knew she would never live it down, if they found her and saved her from bleeding out. Death, would be a kinder fate. This was her last chance to change her mind, to put it all away. Professor Crane had said he could teach her. Hatter was nice, even if it was wrapped in a delusion that she was Alice. Would either of them listen, if she dared to speak it out loud? Not that either was allowed near her now. Besides, it wasn't their problem. It was hers. The only person you could ultimately depend on in this world, was yourself. So she forced the words in the language her mother had taught her as a girl.

From the moment the first breath escaped her with intention, she felt the air grow chill. She felt as if she had the full attention of what ever she addressed, but she couldn't back down now. The words flew from her lips, lyrical and lilting, with no translation for the English tongue. It could all be her imagination, the tingle along her skin and the way the air grew heavy. Soon it became hard to perform the incantation at all, each syllable a battle, a fight for breath in a cell which had become a tomb, buried beneath the weight of the earth. Still she continued, determination riding through the pain until the words were complete and the blade in her hand dug into flesh to draw the first mark of crimson. The world went silent. She added the last in English.

"I give my blood. I give my flesh. I give my mind." in that, she wanted there to be no mistake. She dug in the blade and dragged it across as best she could, willing for this to be her death should it fail.

She doubled over, gasping on the liquid that poured thick and heavy from the gash she had created, making sure it would fall into the symbols. Choking, unable to see any tangible results, the world was still. There was no energy of magic for her to feel. This was all there would be, and there would be no one to miss her when she died. Only those who cursed her name for the loved ones she had taken from them. As her vision failed and her strength left her, she couldn't help but mouth the words, "This is fitting." She could feel her heart beat slow as she collapsed. She wasn't afraid. She knew hell was real, but she wasn't afraid.

Not until she felt something grip the open wound in the dark, not until she opened her eyes to feel something rip and tear and pour its way inside of the opening she had created for it. Thick and solid, but at the same time intangible smoke, her body writhed in protest without her consent, instinctively fighting to expire instead. It didn't matter if her words had welcomed the intrusion, the body fought against with what little remained and the mind found an assault of overwhelming sensations. Hands clawed at the gash, which had already begun to close, ice filled her veins and the force within her ran wild. Untamed, mad, it ripped through her fast and hard with enough new found sensations to drag at long last a scream from her lungs. She must have been screaming for hours, though she drew no second breath when the first was spent and no guard had come to check on the cell. She lay among the misplaced items of ritual which had been scattered in the struggle, staring up into the dark, and once again everything was silent. This too felt like hours, but if both events felt like hours dawn would already be upon them.

It began as a whisper. As small as the voice in the back of your head. One at first, and then gradually more. Worried voices, anxious murmurs, trepidation filled thoughts. Thoughts, that's what these were. She began to breath again, deep and rhythmic. A smile crept upon her as the world around her changed. The air from before was back, it radiated out from her, and she could feel where it touched. She reached out, and she could feel the other inmates, so well she could see them. They knew. Of course they knew, the unstable could feel the magic in the air first, and they didn't like it. She could see each of them, huddled away from the doors in sudden terror, and it made her giggle. It made the force within her rise from the floor, eager to taste this world.

The steps were rigid. Every movement was a twitch, a tick, the force behind the wheel still learning to drive, the muscles heavy. They made it to the door slowly, glancing up and pressing palms to the unyielding metal, delighting at every new detail gathered. They pressed upon it, and the door opened. A loud noise began to blast through the halls, stealing their attention. The alarm, informed Jessica, they will be coming to put us back in the cage. The creature spoke out loud, the words confident and calm. "Will they?" the tone was low and purring, head turning in time to see the first guards appear and pause at the vision of the girl standing in the middle of the hall with blood coating the front of her uniform shirt.

"We need medical on stand-by. Bringing her to you." they relayed the message, but the creature only smiled as they approached.

"We're going to help you, how did-" they were cut off when the first of the cell doors opened. At the very end of the hall, the two across from one another. Jessica stood rigid, staring past them. They didn't seem willing to believe the sound, but when they heard a second pair of doors open, they turned again to see it was true. A third set, and one had figured it out.

"I don't know how you're doing this, but you'd better knock it off! Now!" he turned back to the girl, and her smile split her face in half, helped by the scar where stitches should have still been in place. Every door in the hall opened at once. They held their breath, mentally preparing for the oncoming riot, but they barely had time to get a warning over the radios before the inmates began to overcome the initial terror and pour from their confinements. Rabid animals, the violence and terror which resulted made the newborn creature sigh. It remained untouched as it turned to walk, where ever it passed the inmates instinctively slunk away.

Where so ever the creature moved, the doors around it opened, so that each guard which appeared to stop the event were met with waves of violence. The creature was steady. It took no rush in the path it traveled. It feasted on the chaos around it, growing with each step in a crack of bones and grinding of joints until the little mouse of a woman towered over all. It had read the memories of the girl, and knew where to go. Who to release which might cause the most damage. Intensive care. Solitary. The rogues gallery. They were the most prominent fears, screeching to her from the minds of each guard. They had to be released. There was no question about it. They had to be-

"Jessica!" the voice. She knew it well, shrinking back to normal size in an instant. The height gained through power gone as her eyes jumped to Robert.

"Stop right there!" she froze in place. At first. But the creature within had nothing to fear. This was why she had paid the price, why she had taken the plunge. Her bare feet continued to move steadily towards him, his heart rate increasing with each step. He had his stick drawn already, holding it up for use and warning her he would do it. She refused to stop until he was close enough to bring it down upon her face with a sickening crack, her own head moving with the motion but as ever making no sound. She wasn't invulnerable like this. Blood began to drip down her forehead from where she had been struck, but the gaze that shot to him from beneath the hair made him drop his weapon of choice. She grew back to towering size in the instant and extended her arms for him, pressed a hand to each side of his head and ripped through the mind within. The words he had spoken to Jessica were returned to him in a hiss.

"Go back to sleep."

She pulled up everything he had ever so much as jumped at. She dragged forth every terrible memory, every bad day, every tangible thing he had lived through or nightmare he had in slumber. As he screamed and squirmed in the iron grip, she drank it in with a pleased little coo. She was about to give him new terrors, when his heart stopped beating and he fell limp between the grip. The creature frowned at the body, disappointed instantly in how quickly it had expired. I'm still hungry. It dropped the form and stepped over it, taking note as to how little man could handle. If it wanted a meal to last longer, it would have to take time with it. Pity.

Soon the ward was reached, the first goal. As easy as the rest, the Rogues were each peaking heads from their cells when the doors opened, confusion for the body they saw. They expected the Joker.

"Alice? What are you doing out here?" Hatter was the first to approach her, tone gentle and confused, not noticing the changes or the blood upon her. "Did someone hurt you?" now there was the notice, but the creature only smiled.

"Wonderland?" it riffled through the pages in the girl's mind. "Alice?" the word was a violation, Hatter flinching at the tone and immediately taking a step back, earning a laugh which hung on the air between them. The rest of the Rogues saw fit to slip past and join in the chaos to their own advantage. Waste not, want not.

"No. I'm more of a," the creature bent forward until it could look a suddenly very frightened Hatter in the eyes, "Jabberwocky."

"J-Jabberwocky?" he jumped at the name, growing two shades paler.

"Oh yeeeeeees, I think I like the name." it reached out a hand, making Hatter close his eyes with a squeak and try to shrink back, but instead of violence it gave a quick pat to his shoulder and stood tall again to turn and leave. There was still the isolation ward to visit.

By this time the strides had become smoother, the muscles beginning to cooperate more easily to the force inhabiting the body, minus the occasional instinctive muscle spasm to mark the intruder. There it was. The cell opened as easily as the others, even though the now named Jabberwocky could tell the power surge of the initial right would come to a close soon. It needed to get to a more populated area. The city would do the trick nicely. It should, if it did this right, have just enough power to accomplish what it needed. What it had been able to feed on so far helped, but the minds of the mad did little to truly satisfy. They were muddled at best, the guards not nearly enough sustenance. If the Jabberwocky was to be guaranteed access to the city as it was now, it would need assistance. It pressed a hand to the door, the distant screaming of those who were escaped filling the corridors. They were even now releasing more inmates as they overcame the guards. The madhouse to the mad, so perfectly fitting. But the Jabberwocky had other plans, and so the cell door opened under its hand. Within, one Jonathan Crane looked up as the solitude was revoked.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Back to Crane. This chapter turned out to be pretty long, but I don't want to divide it into two. Next up the heroes come into play.

* * *

When one had been in solitary for several days, it was easy to determine shifts in the atmosphere outside. The alarm going off considerably helped of course. Crane sat upright, expecting this to be some part of the Joker's plan. Did the clown know he was in here? Did he plan on leaving this one door locked out of spite, to be absolutely sure the Scarecrow had no part to play in his plans? His gaze narrowed on the door, just as the click came of the lock.

This was wrong. Instantly every muscle in his body tensed, his breath catching in a sensation which was familiar and yet for so long alien to him. He had chased it in the years since his mastery over both psychology and his own chemicals, the race of heartbeat and flutter of wings withing his chest. Even from the Bat-bully this sensation had come with more difficulty as the years passed, so why now did his mouth dry and tongue hasten to lick lips and fight the sensation away? He watched the door swing open so frightfully slow, willing his muscles to remain still despite their eagerness to indulge in instinct. No. He was master over fear, not the other way around. He kept his face stoic and prepared for what would fill the doorway, not expecting for a moment the vision he would find.

If she registered the surprise he failed to hide, he could not tell. Blood had soaked through the front of her shirt, not even dried yet, a new scar across her throat that shouldn't be there. The stitches too were absent from the gash upon her face, indicating that too had healed more quickly than it should have. Down one side of her face had dripped blood from a head wound. He didn't catch the eyes in time, they looked ordinary now though when she first entered he could swear there was something wrong with them. For the moment he kept his voice calm, as authoritative as his former position and age allowed him, allowing only bewilderment to seep into the words.

"Jessica. You seem to be very good at going where you please." a casual observation, as he studied the eyes upon him more closely. He knew from the start the girl was unhinged, it was to be expected as a fellow resident of this establishment, but where as before those eyes were dull here they shined with mischievous intent. She smiled, and the motion made his stomach churn. All of this was wrong, and he couldn't place his finger on why until she spoke. Until it spoke, because when the words slid over his skin he knew instantly this wasn't Jessica.

"Scarecrow...what an amusing title." without thinking he was standing, though his legs weren't settled on if they should run or be prepared to fight. Once more he reminded himself of who he was and forced himself to remain confident, at the very least in appearance. He couldn't outright deny the sensations which accompanied this, but he could grasp at a scientific solution. Was this an issue of dissociative identity disorder? A different personality? It had to be. He was aware such a case could allow someone to change even their hand writing, their very voice, it fit with the current situation. So the remaining question, would this personality prove to be as easy to deal with? A better question, would each personality have different fears to exploit? Now there was an idea that brought a smile to his lips. If no one had studied such an idea before he would be glad to be the first.

"You know my name, might I inquire as to who I am speaking with?"

"I have had many names. For now, I'll use Jabberwocky. A delightful little mad man all but suggested it." a little shudder ran through this "Jabberwocky", who slid into the room with all the confidence of a woman instead of the timid shuffling of a girl. Yet even that description was wrong, and Jessica's words echoed in his head. She wished she were a monster. She spoke again, leaving him to ponder what trick she used to make the words drift over his skin.

"Can you drive?" hadn't she been shorter than him? So why, as she circled the room, was he looking up at her? What kind of trick was this? Stilts? He looked down but saw only bare feet. When he glanced back up she was standing with hardly a breath between them, and yes she looked down upon his face. When he didn't offer an answer she repeated the question.

"My time is short, answer me, can you drive?"

"What?" pull it together Crane, there was a rational explanation behind all of this. There had to be. The Jabberwocky before him frowned, eyes considering. He blinked, and in that time she shrunk back to her usual size. The eyes dulled. Now he was certain, it had to be an illusion of some kind. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it but was certain he could figure it out given time. For now the air eased up, almost returning to normal along with the smaller voice.

"I told you, I needed faster results. I could confront what I was afraid of all I liked, but that didn't mean I had the power to stop it. Now, I do." illustrating her point, the gaze and smile over her lips held the same, he refused to call it otherworldly, atmosphere for a moment.

"Just imagine what could be accomplished. Your science, my magic." she certainly enjoyed the idea, this was the first time she had ever smiled genuinely. She didn't seem upset at all by the way their previous session had ended, hadn't even mentioned it. He doubted the head wound had caused her to forget that portion, she didn't show any outward signs of concussion. As he took in every detail again, searching for anything he might have missed, she tucked her arms behind her back and continued.

"We need to get to the city, but don't know how to drive. I'd very much like, if you might come with me." We. Did she mean herself and himself, or the royal we? He guessed the second. Generally in D.I.D the personalities weren't aware of each other, but he dismissed that for now.

Outside the distant sound of screams and chaos called to him. He couldn't say he had ever been invited to go with someone in such a manner. He had been hired, certainly. He had often been used as well as used to his own advantage. It was the way things worked among villains. Yet here for all his ability to read people, he could detect no ulterior motive outside of what she had said was needed. Someone who could drive. He leaned down, now that the heights were rightfully returned, all but touching their noses as he gazed into those eyes. She didn't slink away, allowing the lack of space. What was she thinking? He could swear he saw the other expression, just behind her own, granting the impression that this self-identified "Jabberwocky" was staring back out and into him just as easily. A trick of his own imagining, to be sure. Straightening, he returned the smile he had been given. She had proved to be easy to manipulate so far, he had to confess he was curious about this other identity. There was always a chance something more sinister was waiting for him at the end of this road, but he was confident in his own intellect and ability.

"Very well, Jabberwocky, shall we be on our way then?" he used the new name she had given, the smile only growing. Pride? It reminded him instantly of child who'd received acknowledgment, earning a chuckle as she turned.

And grew. In an audible crack of joints and bones, he was only just close enough to hear it beneath the alarms, the air returning to the former state. It reminded him of the device he had once built, a device which emitted a pulse which kept civilians away from the area of university he had to break into. A simple matter of infrasound. Not picked up by the human ear, but the effects worked. As he followed behind her, he noted that the other inmates in the path cleared as they approached, and he witnessed the reverent and instinctive apprehension in their gaze. Yes, he was certain it was infrasound, an all too pleased smile on his face as the lesser people sunk away in the mannerisms of a beast.

In no time at all they had reached the exit, she extended a hand and the door opened, though he was sure it should have been locked. Down a flight of stairs and right to a parking lot, where she scanned the cars and held up a pair of keys for him. She pointed down an old ford truck, he guessed she must have acquired these earlier from one of the guards. They met no further opposition as they each climbed into the seats, and when he turned the keys they indeed matched the vehicle. It was almost too easy, he half expected the Bat to show up then and there. Or for all of this to wind up being some kind of elaborate trap. In which case, he'd kill the girl for her part. For now they pulled out of the lot with little issue beyond the gate, which opened after a few moments of strained eye contact from his passenger. This too he dismissed as parlor tricks of some sort.

Soon the asylum was far behind them, the only sound the impact of wind around the vehicle. White noise.

"You should be wearing a seatbelt." even he had managed in the hurry to observe the safety measure. The last thing he needed was a gravestone which read "Here lies Professor Jonathan Crane. Criminal Mastermind, bested by a lack of basic safety precautions." She complied, and went back to resting her head against the window. She was small again, she had been shortly after they got out of the building. Tired, from the looks of it, but he initiated conversation all the same.

"This magic of yours. Where did you learn it?" he knew she must truly believe it to be fact, so instead of outright attacking those beliefs this time, he decided to get to the bottom of it all in another fashion. She had to learn from someone, and there were any number of combinations she could have learned. Slight of hand. Hypnotism. Misdirection. Much of anything could appear to be magic if you don't understand how it's done.

"My mother." a simple answer, which gave him little. Who had that been? She must have been studying from a very young age to display this skill now. And, perhaps, though still much younger than himself, she wasn't quite as young as she appeared. It was impossible to tell. Were these encrypted words all she knew how to use?

"Right. With this kind of skill I'm sure she made a decent living with it." a sigh and small shake of head answered that.

"That's against the rules. We don't make money with our craft." he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and settled instead for a nod and dropping the subject.

In the silence which followed, he guessed she was falling asleep, and only just remembered the blood running down her face. If that wound was as bad as it looked, and she fell asleep, she may very well not wake up again. He could allow that. He had his freedom now and could return to any number of his hidden labs to resume the work which had been left behind in his last capture.

"Don't fall asleep." the words were loud enough to jolt her and confirm his suspicion. "You've got a head wound, so keep talking. Where exactly are we driving?" if she didn't have a place in mind it would be up to him. Given this was her break out, he was curious to know how far she had planned ahead.

"I'll know where to stop when we get there." as vague as every other answer, he was beginning to wonder if she were even capable of a direct response. The lights of the city quickly approached.

"Do you have any actual plans, or are you just making this up as you go? Most of us tend to figure out the details before our escapes, you know." He made no attempt to hide the tone. She was new. It was obvious. Inexperienced in the line of villainy. He had to remind himself that she was not his student. Not a partner. Not a protege. This was only convenient for the moment. They were already weaving through the streets of the city again, and as she gave no direction, he simply drove.

"I didn't expect to be this hungry." the voice was gaining that lively quality again, her palms pressing to the window and eyes set to the city outside. He didn't dignify that with a response.

"This will do. I know where to go from here." It took him a few circles to find a parking spot, she didn't even wait until the engine was off to undo the belt and exit. Where ever she was going, she at least seemed to know now, singular purpose in the quick paced walk. His long legs allowed him to easily follow behind as she traveled back around the corner and through a gate that he was sure also ought to have been locked, but the pace was too fast for him to stay behind and test the theory. Up the steps, into the building. Up the stairwell within, one flight, two flights, into the hallway of apartments within. That door being unlocked he chocked up to a cheap apartment complex cutting corners or not keeping up with ordinance.

Only within did she pause for the first time since exiting the car, she looked as if she were...listening for something? A nod of her head, she turned at last to him.

"It's just around this corner. I'll get in and leave the door unlocked. No more than a few minutes and you can follow." she glanced down then at the blouse, blood upon it dried. Without hesitating she pulled it off and used the back to wipe at the amount dried on her skin and face, getting it off as best she could and completely oblivious to his dumb founded stare. Instead she handed him the shirt, slid out of the pants, handed those to him and strode around the corner in nothing but underwear. What was this about? Confusion getting the best of him he peaked around the corner in time to see her take a breath, and knock on a door, before covering her bare chest and holding a more vulnerable pose. Her hair fell over the half of her face which held the scar and he only just noticed it was smoother than he'd ever seen. Unlike the other various women of the asylum who enjoyed flaunting their ample figures when given the chance, he supposed he could understand why she'd never bothered with her own petite frame. The curves were barely present at all, she looked more like a teenage girl than the usual ideal for a woman. He managed to shake the thoughts off and return his focus to the scene itself unfolding, dismissing the prior observation as unimportant and reminding himself he was a man of science first and foremost. Skin was skin, not worth lingering gaze over.

"Please, open up!" she sounded convincingly distressed, giving another wrap and glancing both ways for who ever might be peering through the peephole to see matching uncertainty in body language. Sure enough, the moment she turned, looked about to try a different door, the first opened and she glanced back.

"Oh thank god. I'm so sorry, this is...could I use your phone?" she was all but sobbing the words, plausibly frantic, and he took careful note of the acting skills demonstrated here. He'd seen this before. It reminded him enough of Sherry Squires that he very nearly walked away then and there, before remembering even she hadn't been that good of an actress. It had been less acting skills then and more his own hormonal stupidity as a teenager. A mistake he would not make twice. Instead of walking away he tucked his head back and listened in.

"What happened? What are you doing out here?" he was rightfully suspicious, who ever had answered the door. This was Gotham after all. He could all but see the tears as she answered.

"It's my boyfriend down the hall. Ex-boyfriend. He kicked me out, wouldn't even let me get my clothes..." Humiliation and distress. It was a tempting web laid out.

"What?!" the outrage was clear, "Hold on. Here, put this on. I'm going down there to talk to him!" Oh, so she'd found a hero had she?

"No! Please, he's too...I don't want anyone to get hurt. Please, please, can I just use your phone? My roommate can come get me." she offered instead, and got a confirmation.

"Thank you, thank you, you're a life saver!" He heard the door close, but no click of any locks.

He waited for a few minutes, glad at this early enough hour no one was out and about. Just imagine the response, walking out of your apartment or up the stairs to find an escaped Arkham inmate holding some bloody clothing. Why, they'd be positively scared out of their skin. Almost made him wish someone would come up the stairs just then. But there would be plenty of time for that later. For now he crept around the corner and down the hall, listening outside of the door. There it was again. The prickling over his skin. When he reached out to touch the doorknob he could all but feel that spark, but just as before he pushed through it. He turned the knob slowly, finding it unlocked, and hear her voice within. No, heard the voice of that other, the Jabberwocky. Low and sinister in every regard. Venomous.

"What's the matter, my hero? You were so brave a moment ago." he heard only a whimper in response, instantly intrigued and considering it safe to slip inside. He turned the knob to close the door gently, sneaking closer until he was through the initial entryway and could see the scene.

The apartment was small, not perfectly clean but not an absolute wreck either. There were some dirty clothes and the occasional take out trash strewn about the place. The decorations were minimal in muted tones, the open boxes in the corner indicating how long the inhabitant had lived here. There was a computer station set up in place of an entertainment center on the coffee table in front of the couch, and little else in the way of visible furniture. The lighting was dim, only one bulb in the lamp above working as he entered. From the layout, he guessed this was a one bedroom abode and that the man lived alone.

Said dark haired and rounded young man was seated on the couch, she was leaning over him, towering once again and gripping his jaw in one hand. He didn't notice Crane, his full attention was on her, and he was without a doubt terrified. But why? What had she done? She had no possible weaponized method on her person, so how was she doing it? He took a step forward, trying to get a better look, and noted how her eyes were locked onto his own. Hypnotism? If one didn't know any better, they might be able to say her touches could look affectionate, if not for the way he squirmed in her grasp or the tears already running down his face. One hand clamped over his mouth, just before the screaming started, muffling it and resisting any attempts he made to fight her off, which should have been possible given their weight difference. Crane remained rooted to watch the scene, which was all too familiar to the scene they had had before, where she had been the one struggling to crawl away from him under the effects of his fear toxins. It had to be hypnotism. Why had she even bothered to ask him to teach her if she had access to tricks like this all along?

He narrowed gaze once more and contemplated why he was actually here at all. The man stopped struggling. After another few minutes, he lay limp and staring at the ceiling. Could hypnotism do that?

"Did you know fear has a taste?" the eyes looking his way were too vividly green. "His tasted like peppermint." she didn't bother to try to hide her bare chest this time, though she also didn't flaunt it in the way he had seen the other women do when they tried to gain an advantage with their natural assets. Instead of reaching for her own shirt she pulled off the strangers, no doubt for the lack of blood upon it, sliding it on and moving back to him with eyes bleeding back to normal. "Thank you." she took the pants back from him and slid them on, tossing the shirt in the trash can next to the bar top dividing the living room from the tiny apartment kitchen.

"The clothes won't be an exact fit, but I doubt he'll mind you rifling through his closet now."

He thought he knew what he was dealing with after their initial conversation. Now he wasn't so certain. Neither was he willing to back down from this presented challenge.

"I think I deserve an answer." the tone was as firm as every other statement, crossing his arms when she glanced at him with curiosity, "Just why did you want me here? You needed a driver, sure, but why not part ways once we reached the city?" when she only tilted her head he added, "What are you planning and where do I come in?" if she dodged this question as much as she had the others, he was walking away. There was more here than she was telling him, and he intended to find out what. No dodging and quizzical responses.

"Planning? I only wanted to get into the city, and find a place to rest. I have both now." her eyes flicked around the room, a manic nervousness written over her face. "This was as far as I had thought. Scan the minds and find a stranger whose home could remain unsuspect. Many of his insecurities centered around a lonely life. No one will notice his absence until we are long gone."

"Scan the minds? Explain." Psychic phenomena? Not exactly another area he was comfortable with, but one he had at least seen before. If what she claimed were true, and she had certain abilities, he was certain they too could be a result of science. Ivy was not exactly ordinary by any means, but she was not supernatural either. Though it didn't explain why these traits only appeared now, unless they were only apparent in this other personality she was showing? It could make sense. He was piecing this all together.

"Minds isn't the right word. Fears. I can hear them all now. Every anxiety, every concern. I wanted-"

"To be a monster, so you said. But how are you doing it? And if you have that now why keep me around?"

"I thought-" her words cut off as she braced herself on the back of the sofa hosting the dead apartment owner, dizzy and visibly paling. She glanced around and hurried into the kitchen, tossing her head into the sink to vomit. Another sign of a concussion, and he doubted it was any kind of act to distract from the conversation. After a minute and when she was satisfied it was over she ran the water and wiped her mouth, still steadying herself on the sink to continue.

"We could work together? Maybe I was mistaken." she forced the words through her swaying and slid down to the tile floor. He was trying to decide if this was a rouse as well delivered as what she had shown at the door. He moved around and to the kitchen doorway, glancing down at the shivering thing curled up on the tile, face fighting not to show pain but failing. It looked as if what ever was ailing her was coming and going in waves. She spoke between them. He had to admit it was difficult to feel threatened by anyone who so frequently wound up in such a position, unless of course that too was a rouse to lure him into security. Paranoid? Perhaps, but then he had never had any good interactions with females to date. Paranoia was justified enough as a villain, let alone when the other gender came around. He had seen it a dozen times, and been on the receiving end enough to be cautious.

"Everyone's heard of the Scarecrow, but I didn't know what you looked like. Or that it was you until you gave your name." Admiration? He knelt down, resting spindly arms on his bony knees.

"What did you hear about me?" she shrugged, and answered when she was able before he could add an admonishment to the frown he responded with.

"Just that you were obsessed with fear. You used to be professor back at the college I was attending but they fired you, and you came back for revenge. The students still like to whisper about it, like some urban legend." Fair enough.

"That's why you asked if I would teach you?" because of his connection to the college?

"I..." she didn't seem able to bring herself to finish the sentence. Another wince, another minute until she would speak again and he noticed her hair was clinging to her damp skin, "don't want to be a burden." A burden? What kind of talk was that? Self-deprecating. She managed to push herself up to a sitting position, shaking. In the small space it was easy to reach his long arm out and press a hand to her forehead. As he suspected she was running a fever. Something no amount of acting skills could fake.

"What did you do to yourself?"

"What I had to." She withdrew from the touch, leaning out of it and avoiding eye contact again.

"I won't keep you. If you'd rather go."

What was he going to do? It would be easy to walk out now, work solo as he usually did. Cast the remaining questions aside in favor of playing it safe. But then, there are some who might say he'd been afraid of risk. Which was by no means the case.

"A hospital is out of the question, unless you want to be carted back to Arkham."

"I'd rather die." short, quick, but adamant. A single brow raised above the smirk it brought to his face.

"Very well." He rose from the floor and opened the fridge, finding some left overs within and helping himself.

"I'll stay through the night. If you survive, we'll talk options. If not, well..." he would obviously move along. He just caught a nod from her as she drifted off into a fitful sleep. What was the worst that could happen? If this was all some kind of trick, then he'd find out and make her suffer for it. Her and who ever else might be behind it. For now, he wanted to know where this was going. Never mind the old saying.

Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Heroes perspective

* * *

The sun was well into the sky by the time Akrham was back under control. Several high profile inmates had managed to escape, and considering how few of them were in to begin with, it didn't bode well for Gotham. Joker, Harley, Scarecrow, and Two-Face were all loose, joining names like the Riddler and Poison Ivy among those who were yet to make themselves known and be apprehended. In the mean time there were several Arkham guards and a nurse who were having their families informed of their passing, and Batman was determined to get to the bottom of the cause. Now that the inmates were back in their cells, he could begin the investigation. Robin, Tim, was already at the security station when he arrived, looking over the footage. On the screens were static, some kind of interference briefly taking out visual. Bruce didn't have to ask him if he could recover it, fingertips were already flying across the keyboards to work at the task.

"This doesn't make any sense. I can't find any outside source, or any way at all this could have been tampered with. The cameras work fine, then they don't, then they do again. Usually if someone's trying to hide something they fill in with footage from another day, or leave behind some kind of signature I can find that they were here." Tim was pretty good with computers. More than just good.

"Keep working at it, I'm going to talk to the guards."

"Those that are talking." a grim line formed his mouth, and though Bruce agreed with the sentiment he didn't say it out loud.

Talking to those who were able and willing was yielding likewise little results. Someone must have hacked the system somehow, because the doors had almost all of them been forced open somehow. So far he wasn't getting very much that was concrete. Rodgers was certain this was the work of the Joker, but then Rodgers was often certain and seldom right. Lee admitted he didn't know, but mentioned that Perez was first to call in when the alarms went off. Just before all hell broke loose. Perez was being treated in the medical wing, he'd refused to leave until everything was settled and even then insisted he'd be fine despite nurse Brooke's insistence on checking him over. She was wrapping the freshly treated wound down his arm when Batman arrived. Without missing a beat Perez already knew what he wanted.

"It was Jessica. Jessica Milner. I don't know how she did it, but it had to be her. We found her outside of her cell when the alarm went off, covered in blood. Her own, we guessed at first. After that all the doors were opening, and you see the rest." Perez was a man of hard convictions. He knew what kind of horrors could happen in these walls, and just what the inmates were capable of. He faced his job with a steadfast resolve and dedication to the work at hand that wasn't shared by all of his contemporaries.

"I'm not the superstitious type," something in his tone made the Bat pause, "but something wasn't right. About any of this. About her." he shook his head, unwilling to continue. "I don't know, maybe I just imagined it-" But the Bat was already gone when he looked back.

The cleaning crew would be at work for some time, they had already called in everyone on staff who could make it for the day to help it along faster. But no one had touched her cell yet when he arrived. Dr. Hutchinson was standing in the doorway, a willowy woman with short black hair cut neatly into a bob who was unwilling to cross the boundary into the room.

"You must be assigned to Jessica." The low voice which spoke behind her made the doctor jump and turn with a gasp, though she recovered quickly enough. She was one of the newer faces to Arkham, though she had already outlasted the betting pool for how long she would remain. Batman knew of her, but this was their first time meeting. Once she had recovered she extended a hand and gave her name in introduction, though he moved past the extended hand into the room to begin the examination. It wasn't a pretty vision, and the immediate thought which crossed his mind he hoped was incorrect. He knelt down and collected a sample of what he knew to be dried blood, expecting it to be hers though he would run the tests to be sure. A large amount of it had pooled on the floor, and he saw no other body it could be from. Though, if she had lost this much blood it was a miracle she had been able to stand on her own two feet, let alone make an escape.

"What can you tell me about her?" his voice broke Dr. Hutchinson out of her silent observation of him, making her jump again though this time it was less noticeable.

"There's not a lot to share. She had a mental break down on campus where she was attending Gotham University, killing one classmate and injuring two more before she was subdued. She said very little before, and nothing since, and was recommended to our care. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that, patient confidentiality," She received a look beneath the cowl that made her chew her bottom lip, "But I understand you tend to find a way to know these things." she grew thoughtful as he took pictures of the scene and what showed of the symbols on the floor, as well as the items around the room. He would ask if Jessica had ever mentioned any interest in magic or the occult, but as was mentioned Jessica never spoke. This was nothing he recognized, perhaps it was just another symptom of her psychosis. She wouldn't be the first to claim mystical powers where there were none.

"She was hanging out with Jonathan Crane, despite our efforts to put a stop to that after-" she paused, deliberated, and continued, "Well you're likely to find out. She got into his cell somehow and he dosed her with his toxins. I don't know why she would be around him again after that but...there's a chance that's where she went." they were both on the missing list.

"I hope you find her."

"Hey," Tim over the intercom, "You're looking into Jessica right?" He didn't bother to ask how Tim had come to that conclusion on his own. While he wasn't likely to say it out lout, Tim had a way of learning things on his own and a quick mind. The mind of a detective as well, even if he lacked the years of experience.

"She was spending time with Crane. I'm moving to his cell now." there might be something in there the others were likely to miss. If it were true, the influence of the former professor wouldn't bode well for anyone. It hadn't done well for the few girls he had set his sights on in the past, and it wouldn't do well for her now.

"I'll meet you there, I've grabbed her file already." Robin beat him there, holding a cross armed pose against the wall as he waited for show.

"What took you so long?" Batman ignored him and moved into the room. The first stop was the small bookshelf Crane had been allowed. As he scanned the rows for anything out of place, Robin made himself perhaps a bit too comfortable on the bed and began flipping through the book left there.

"Whoa. I think I found something," he flipped a page open to be seen, "what language is that?" he turned and examined the book, which wasn't written in the handwriting of any of the rogues, least of all Crane's. Taking it and flipping through the pages, he couldn't make it out either. But he recognized what it would be, some of the symbols were obvious in intent, though he himself wasn't as familiar with them. While on the outside he looked as poised as ever, on the inside he was gritting his teeth with the discovery.

"I hate magic." he growled, snapping the book shut to take it with them and making to leave, a wide eyed Tim trailing behind it.

"Magic?" If that's what they were dealing with, he'd need to contact an outside source to translate the texts and let him know just what they were dealing with. And if it was a fake, they would know that as well. Batman had just the guy in mind for this assistance. Luckily for Gotham, it had it's own residential occult expert. It was time to pay Jason Blood a visit.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Supernatural perspective

* * *

The muscles twitched and the skin itched, and everything felt so terribly small. The Jabberwocky was a primal force, crammed into this new shape. It poured over the anxieties of those around it, to piece together an image of this world. With every passing second it grew more accustomed to the new form, mingling its perspective with the mind which had brought it forth, as best it could to gain a foothold on this existence. The slumber, if it could be called that, was a fitful fever of inner conflict. The human had sacrificed to make this happen, it had given itself to the thing which it summoned, and yet some part outside of its control still struggled to resist the transaction. The force itself could not remain as it was, within the transaction it too was transformed, toiling over human constructs which were altogether foreign to it.

Flesh. Physical sensations and the weight of gravity upon it. Occasionally when it was perfectly still for long enough it felt a small pressure upon a vein, before that too retreated. Somewhere deep the human mind comprehended the sensation to be two fingers. Checking for a pulse.

Emotions. There was so much more than terror here, the emotional range was a force of its own and the Jabberwocky could not keep up with it all. It would need time. It rummaged through her memories. It picked and plucked and pulled at philosophies and perspectives and interactions she had both experienced and witnessed.

Hours passed. The sun came and went, and gradually the fever subsided. Every second may as well have been days of its own, the internal had no regard for the ticking of the clock or rotation of the planet. In the end, what was left within the shell which had been given was neither force nor human girl. It was something new altogether. Tainted. Twisted. Wrong. It should not exist at all, but here it was, sucking in a breath with a stretch of spine and dragging claws over the tile floor beneath it.

With a shiver she picked herself up with a giddy giggle from throat. She tasted and played with the sensation on her tongue. Speech was different than the buzz of whispers playing and tugging at the corners of her mind. Her head jerked to the side as she listened to them, the worries and concerns of the humans which were so crowded upon this planet. And then she remembered the one closer, the whispers of the world quieting as her full attention snapped to the one who had accompanied her here.

It, he, was sleeping now. Rigid steps drew her closer to where the spindly thing had doubled over the arm of couch opposite the cold shell which was left behind in the wake of her feed. All skin and bone, gangly and awkward with short brown hair a mess. Instinct informed her that this appearance had often been the source of discomfort, for both himself and those around him. She stopped when the couch prevented her from moving any closer, watching the sleeping form and reaching in without invitation. What drove this one? Why had he accepted the initial offer and driven her to the city? Could he not sense what was at play here? She listened very closely, leaning down until breath trailed over his forehead, gaze unblinking as she began to dig.

The glimpses were easy to catch, though he no doubt assumed himself very guarded, a fact which made her smile. The memories on the surface were indeed filled with every manner of unpleasant emotion, filled with shakes and shudders, begging and screams. Not his own, but he was surrounded by it so that the smell of so many meals in one lingered on his pale skin. She inhaled that scent, felt it instantly trigger apatite, and his eyes opened to reflect her smile in the dull blue.

"Did I wake you?" her voice was lilting and implied a warmth which was altogether absent, unbothered with social conduct she may have been breaking. The former professor frowned at the intrusion, or perhaps at how he had allowed himself to fall asleep to begin with, and sat up.

"I see you made it through the night." As he moved from her she straightened up herself and made no attempt to hide the pleasant amusement she felt in his direction.

"Indeed. I see you changed apparel." Only his shirt, the pants no doubt would refuse to stay up given the dead man's size. The shirt hung loosely on the frame and made it look more like he were roaming around in pajamas which were both oversized and too short all at once. Not that her own attire must have looked much different. He gave a curt nod, face ever strewn into sullen lines. The smile on her face doubled in size, which only caused his own frown to deepen.

"What?" The girl responsible for this might have lacked any purpose in it the Jabberwocky could find (it seemed a purpose within itself with no path given now that it was done), but the Jabberwocky got the distinct impression that if nothing else this other human was delightfully amusing. She was fairly sure he was the kind who enjoyed his personal space, but yet again she showed no outward signs of respecting any such social constructs. Instead she climbed up to the now empty arm of the couch and leaned over his retreating face so they were eye to eye again and spoke a single word with absolute conviction.

"Yes." He did well at hiding the sudden discomfort, and she allowed him that confidence.

"Yes, what?"

"I like you." As simple a statement as any, she backed away yet again, "I must see more of this world. I will find you again." The prompt decision evidently didn't sit well with him from the furrowing of brow.

"And just how do you propose to do that? If my places of operation have avoided detection this far, I very much doubt your abilities." His arms crossed and she tried to listen for the reasons behind this reaction. What was he afraid of, that he couldn't believe what was unfolding before him? Not afraid at all. Pity. She couldn't seem to read anything unrelated to those emotions. She would have to dive ever deeper, later. For now the ravenous ache of hunger was rising yet again.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that." In the blink of his eyes, she was gone. She left no room for witty retort, and what she assumed could be no doubt to the nature of her being. Though if he insisted on disbelief, she would be all the more amused. The games, were only just beginning.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Heroes

* * *

Jessica Milner's file was still fairly new. She didn't have any previous criminal record. No real trouble she had gotten into at school growing up. Her mother had died during a break in when she was a girl, and a few years later her father remarried. Her medical history had what wasn't too out of the ordinary. A trip for fever from pneumonia, a broken arm from a fall, a kitchen accident that required stitches. Outside of that there was no documented violence or tragedy in her life. She was in her third year of college when she snapped, killing two class mates and injuring another with a knife she had, which wound her up in Arkham. While that was all the information on file, it didn't take a master mind to know there had to be more to it than what was on paper. While Bruce was exploring the angle of the book they had found and occult-like symbols in the cell, Tim had determined to see what background information he could figure out. According to the file she had still been living with her parents prior to Arkham, so that was where it made sense to start.

The address itself wasn't hard to find. It wasn't in the bad part of town, but not in the nicest places either. The houses were pressed together neatly and some had small strips of yard. It was the kind of place where you could raise a family, the dream for a lot of individuals let alone apartment bound Gothamites of the more inner city. It wasn't hard for him to patrol the building, making his way to the second floor and finding what would have to be her room. The window was open, so he slid inside as nimble as can be. She liked green, evidently, the bed spread matching the window curtains. There was a single person bed, a desk ready for homework, clothes hung neatly in the closet. There was a large book shelf with neatly arranged volumes of fantasy and science fiction, along with a few more academic looking tomes. Next to the bed was a stack of books she must have either favored or been meaning to read next, and he picked up the first to flip it open. It was a book of poetry by Rainer Rilke, one side hosting the German text and the other hosting the English translation. When he flipped it open it fell instantly to a highlighted and annotated poem, as if the spine of the book had been subjected to that space consistently.

An i-pod sat next to the laptop, which he pulled up. He doubted there was a diary hidden around the room, but everything was digital these days. If she had secrets, that's where they were likely to be. And Tim would be able to find them. As he sat at the desk he caught site of the only picture in the room, a framed image of what he assumed to be a young Jessica and a dark haired woman who he assumed was her mother, from the ages in the image. She looked happy, and this room looked ordinary. Maybe too ordinary, outside of the books it boasted no personality at all.

"What is hiding here?" he was certain there was something, and set to work on the computer before him, getting past the password and into it in a matter of minutes. In case of interruptions he immediately began transferring files to his thumb drive, all of the information scanned in just as he heard footsteps approaching. He barely had time to grab the drive and shut the computer, crouching into the shadows as the door slowly opened. An older woman, blond hair clipped halfway back and round features all about, moved into the room with a sigh. She stood in the doorway for a moment, before moving to the laptop and tracing her fingers over it. Tim tried to sneak behind her to the open window, but she spun just in time to spot him. He froze, expecting some kind of panic, but the look of concern she gave was towards the door instead.

"I've heard of you," so she knew he was one of the good guys, "Though I expected you to be a good deal older." a mother through and through, she couldn't help but tsk in disapproval. He straightened up from the prior attempt to slink, adopting his best business tone of voice. He didn't need her approval, there was a job to be done.

"I'm looking for Jessica."

"Yes, I thought you might be." another glance to the door, she made hurried steps to close it and lowered her voice, though it was soft to begin with, "If my husband finds you here he won't be happy." She didn't have to come right out and say what that might mean.

"I'm afraid I can't be much help. She didn't really have any friends, no places she hung around. She was a good girl, really. Always helped around the house, kept up with her studies, never raised a fuss." her arms were all but wrapped around herself, anxious and rigid.

"What aren't you telling?"

"He never really means it. I don't expect her to come back, but if she does," he wasted no time handing her a card.

"Call me." she took it with a nod, and he had just enough light to notice the bruises on her arm, beneath her sleeves which rode up with the movement. He took closer look at her face and noticed her lip was healing, recognized the use of makeup. He'd done it himself a few times to keep people from asking too many questions at school, though she wasn't exactly the crime fighting type.

"She's not the only one who can get help, you know. There are people who-"

"Diane!" the booming voice sounded from below, she just avoided jumping and tucked the card away.

"It's okay, you go on now." she forced a well practiced smile, but it didn't reach her eyes as she answered the shout. She just turned back, "I hope you find her." the implication was there. Diane sounded genuinely concerned. Step mother or not, there was love there, and sadness, and disappointment all wrapped up in the syllables. He got the impression that Diane had wanted to protect Jessica, as he turned to go and quietly closed the window behind him.

He couldn't force her to seek out help if she didn't want it, but he could mention it. As he made his way through the city, he felt the anger rise up for Mr. Milner, a sickened feeling that would linger as he made it back to the batcave and began pouring over the information from her computer. Guys like that made him ill, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not unless someone was willing to speak up. He wondered if some kind of intimidation tactic could help, or if it would only make it worse. Bruce would probably have a better idea of how to handle something like this. For now he should focus on what he could do.

He pulled up her information, though most of it was class work. Her internet history had been regularly cleared. There was no such luck of finding a blog post, a diary of some kind, or any chat room history. What ever secrets she had, she was keeping them close to the chest. The most real thing he found was files of poetry she favored, downloads of more books, and her music playlists. Industrial, melodic metal, haunting operatic or melancholy tunes and classical music. A veritable mix but most expressing anger or sadness, as if the music expressed for her what she'd bottled up. He had a friend at school who did that. Jake. When he asked Jake how he could stand that angry music, Jake explained that it was helpful for him. When he got mad he's just put on the tunes, and they'd express that for him. It got it out of his system. When he said he never really thought of Jake as all that angry, the guy'd just laughed and said he guessed it was working then.

He couldn't imagine hiding all of that for so long. Sure, he wore a mask when he was fighting crime, to protect his identity. But he had friends who he could take the mask off around. He had Bruce and Alfred. If he had to spend his whole time molding and maintaining the image people expected of him?

"I'd go nuts too." he gave a sigh and wiped at his face, sensing the looming presence behind him of Bruce. "Hey! Any luck on your end? Her computer's not pulling up squat, but I got a good feel for her parents. Her dad's a piece of work, if you catch my drift." Bruce removed the cowl and gave him a look that said he did, "Her step mom seemed nice though. I left her a card and she said she'd call if she sees her. She seemed worried."

"As well she should be." Bruce wasn't normally the cheeriest guy around, but how deeply set the frown was today gave Tim his answer. "Don't tell me, it's actually magic?"

"Jason Blood is working on the book, but he's already confirmed it's legitimate."

"No way!"

"Magic doesn't often pop up, but we should be glad Jason's willing to help. He's one of the most well known occultists there is."

"So having him set up here in town is pretty convenient I guess." A nod.

"What ever she was using, it goes back a long ways, and it had multiple hand writings. He guessed it could have been a family heirloom of some kind."

Tim thought over what he'd seen of the house, both outside and in. Had he noticed anything out of the ordinary? Not really. Now that he thought about it he'd even seen a cross hanging up in her room. Was that also a mask?

"I didn't get any kind of impression of that stuff from her mom, but you might want to talk to her dad." his arms crossed with the thought of that. If anyone could spook that guy into better behavior, it was Bruce. And of course he could probably find out more in the meantime.

"Well we don't have to sit by while Jason works on those translations. We know there's a good chance she is working with Scarecrow-"

"So if we find him, we find her."

"Precisely."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** Supernatural

* * *

The city was a pure assault of sensation. She weaved between the towering buildings, navigating the maze at a steady pace and paying no mind to the few who crossed her path and instinctively moved out of her way. Her gaze wasn't for them, not yet. It was skyward, listening to all the fears dripping from the buildings above and hovering about the ground like a fog. They tingled along her skin, sensual and wonderful, but dull. Weak. They were little more than pin pricks where she wanted a collision. The potential was there. This world would have much to offer her.

She looked upon the place of her ascension and found it fitting. Filth in the gutters. Her bare feet were blackened with the tar coated roads she walked, eased by occasional oil slick or stagnant puddle. The sky above remained blackened, smog obscuring any vision of stars. And yet, lit. The eternal glow of electricity acting as an artificial full moon light. The buildings which towered over the winding paths were dark, flitting between well-worn brick or sleek metal. Gothic, the girl's memories spoke of. And then there was the people. Jabberwocky inhaled deeply the scents around it. The rot, the lingering decay of trash and flesh alike, the sweat on skin from daily effort or concern. Did this aesthetic crawl and squirm and cover the very face of this planet? She wasn't certain, but she decided instantly she liked it. Or, more importantly, she liked what it provided in the people which called it home.

Her gaze drifted at last down from the sky. A very particular terror had leapt and jumped and demanded her notice. Cold green eyes focused unblinking on the blackened opening of the crevice, littered with discarded refuse spread from either beast or wind. There was little more than a muffled whimper, but it drew her in as a fly to honey. The darkness was not complete, only more substantial without the aid of the street lights. As she approached she heard shushed voices, and took note of four individuals. Three male, one female, hand clamped over her mouth and paws on the buttons of her blouse. Three to hold down one. She gathered instantly that the three feared the vigilantes of the city, not enough to keep from their activity but enough to want to keep her quiet. They had no thoughts of what else could be lurking in the darkness, they had no idea.

The woman noticed her first, hazel eyes giving silent plea, either for help or for the other "woman" to save herself and get out of there. The Jabberwocky's gaze remained steady as the soft skin of stomach was revealed. It stepped forward as one worked on pulling up her skirt, the other reaching for his own jeans, and the third noticed her at last. A towering woman with what looked to be pajamas, blank stare beneath long brown hair.

"What the fuck?" he stepped away and closer to the monster, "you look ready for bed, but there's no mattress here." He laughed, another chiming in,

"This place stinks, why don't we take them somewhere more comfortable?" a harsh whisper and press of blade point to neck, a warning that if the girl spoke or screamed they would kill her. After all, this new comer seemed dumb in the head. Certainly easier than the squirming girl.

"Why don't you come with us?" the first was closer now, looking up at her with a whistle, "You sure are tall."

The Jabberwocky smiled, and at last terror sparked in his gaze before her. The Jabberwocky remained perfectly still in form, reaching out with something none could see but all could feel. Terrible claws, such terrible jaws, closing around them all where they stood. The woman couldn't mind the knife at her throat, she let out a piercing scream which the knife wielding man couldn't bring himself to move to silence. The males were quick to try and recover, though. Gathering themselves, deep breaths in the face of something instinctively unnatural. The one closest to her was the scrawniest of the bunch, which no doubt helped the other two to be braver. To dismiss his frozen alarm as being lesser than them. One had rippling muscles beneath tightly woven shirt, and he rose now to come forward and regain control. He was all smirks, smoothing back a few stray black locks, ready and eager to pull his friend back to his senses, but he too froze when the creature spoke. The voice itself was calm. Low. But it couldn't be called inviting, not the way it dug itself into skin, sharp legs of a centipede.

"Do you want to have some fun?" those who could each took a step back, forcing themselves to remain only out of stubborn will. The girl had begun to sob, gaze averted and eyes squeezed shut. Without waiting for an answer Jabberwocky extended a hand to ghost fingers down the nearest male's face, for which he shuddered but forced a smile. It still took him a second try to force words.

"You're pretty freaky, hu?" this drew a laugh from the other two which eased the tension a touch. All the while Jabberwocky observed. Observed their growing discomfort and the ways they attempted to adapt to such. Such interesting little things, she answered the inquiry and decided to allow them the momentary attempt at reprieve.

"Indeed." Her arm snaked around behind the boy's shoulders, she moved closer and tasted his confusion. His skin crawling and jumping between fear and excitement. When she pressed closer, the hardened length between them and idiotic grin which poured over his face told her the later emotion was winning. The muscled one behind him was opening his mouth to add something, but the sound never escaped him.

Because the smile on her lips widened to split her face, mouth opening to rows of sharp points which promptly dug into his shoulder and ripped the meat there out, spraying his comrade in a flow of crimson. The first sputtered, shock over his face as he collapsed and tried to grasp at the bleeding wound, tried to figure out what to do about it with a panicked whimper. Now it was a masculine scream which rang out, and she drank it in with a delighted sigh. Muscles drew a blade of his own as she moved towards him, driving it into her with a primal rage. Fight or flight, he fought, the knife sinking into the very place she had ripped asunder on his friend. The creature didn't even flinch. The smile grew even wider, dripping the blood of his friend down her chin.

A hand came up which gripped his jaws, digging in nails and forcing them open in strength her arms didn't reflect. He fought to resist, but in the end his mouth was open for her. She parted the rows of teeth above him, and let the shoulder flesh of his friend tumble down onto his own tongue, for which he found a new strength and pulled himself from her grasp to vomit. She watched this too, morbid fascination, ever amused by every proceeding. When she turned to look at the final one, the boy was no match. As he ran, she noticed the wet which had run down one pant leg and laughed. All around her now they were afraid. The one who ran, would spread word of what had crawled out of the darkness. It was satisfactory. Though, she hadn't given him a name to spread. Perhaps she should have. No matter, there would be more time for that later.

The second had stopped vomiting, making way on shaking legs to try and lift his friend for them to flee. The friend who was still in a state of shock, silent tears down his face as he fiddled with the gaping shoulder wound and tried to better see what had been done. The Jabberwocky let them think it distracted, pulling blade from shoulder as they made attempt to flee.

"Come on, lets go! You'll be fine, we've got to get out of here!" Muscles was so focused on carrying his friend, he didn't notice the Jabberwocky coming for them a second time. The only alert he had was the scream his bleeding buddy gave, collapsing to the ground to cover his face. Muscles turned, ready to fight though he knew it was pointless, and met her gaze. Eye to eye, his muscles went slack. Once more the voice reached out to tantalize their flesh. Raw power. Electrical current.

"Do you know what I am?" his mind raced but lips gave no retort. She placed a single digit on his forehead, pushing him down to his knees by the one vantage point, and never once breaking eye contact. "I have had many names. But you may call me…" she ripped and pulled through his head, breaking all she found and releasing every horrible memory and hitch of breath in a lifetime. The monsters under his bed were real now, and they were rending flesh from bone. He was too terrified to scream, but she pressed blood stained lips to his and drank him in all the same. Every horror hers to make tangible, and his last breath hers for the taking. He tasted like steak, and when she released him there was nothing left but a husk collapsed onto the pavement. She was still hungry. There was something downright delicious about a stubborn brute's inner worries. Compared to the trembling mess she had now, he almost wasn't worth consideration. But then, every girl's got needs. She circled around to crouch in front of the first one and got little more than a whimper, the very muffled sound which had drawn her into this scene from the start, before he too was worthless to her. Short, but she supposed it would do.

Which only left one. The female, who her gaze fell upon once more, just as steady as it had been before. She was still sobbing, still curled up and wishing to wake up. Convinced this couldn't be real. Just to be sure, the smiling Jabberwocky moved over and pinched her, earning a start and incredulous gaze.

"Oh this is very real. Just look." The girl did as instructed, eyes widening to where they might as well have burst right from her head. A thought that made Jabberwocky lick lips and the girl shiver, as if she too could see the horrendous vision.

"Y-" she had to try again, calm herself, "You saved me?" the Jabberwocky's head tilted, the thought never occurring to her. Is that what she had done? Curioser. She leaned in, and the girl leaned back, nose wrinkling at the smell of death which drifted on breath.

"Is that what I've done?" the question wasn't a correction at all, spindly fingers and long claws playing at the girl's short blonde locks idly.

"Y-Yes?"

"You don't sound so certain." Spoken with a return of grisly smile. Another shiver delighted her.

"Yes, that's what you did." The girl seemed to think this was the right choice. That there was some chance she could convince the crazy woman of what she had done. If it didn't work, she were dead anyways.

"And what will you give me for this service?" after only the shortest moment the girl quickly crawled to her purse a few feet away, trying not to look over at the two bodies despite what they had been trying to do to her. She dug through the item and immediately held up what cash she had. She was still afraid. Afraid it wouldn't be enough. Afraid of dying.

"I can get more, if you want." She insisted.

"How sweet." She was cute. Cuter than the males had been. Her terror of dying, and eagerness to avoid the fate, it almost made the Jabberwocky want to take the thing with her. There would be others, no doubt.

"Trade me clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"Trade me clothing." True, the Jabberwocky could kill the girl easily. Strip her that way. But once she was dead, she would stop radiating this enticing discomfort and unease. The dead, she was quickly learning, had nothing left to give her. It allowed her to feed without refrain, true, but that would only due for so long. The wheels in her head were turning, and as she watched the girl strip down to underwear and hold the garments out for the Jabberwocky, it was obvious new methods would need to be developed. Perhaps her Scarecrow would have something better in mind. Time to find out. She removed the blood stained shirt and pants, humming at the face the girl made at them. She didn't make eye contact, left to chose between wearing undergarments or evidence in a murder investigation.

"When they ask, you can call me the Jabberwocky." And then she was gone. Leaving a traumatized girl behind to spread the word.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** Scarecrow

* * *

Scarecrow was back. Or more accurately, properly attired and free of the confines of Arkham. His scythe rested neatly nearby, his gloves and mask alone removed as he worked diligently over his chemical production. His first hideaway had been compromised, but this one remained intact. A few years ago there had been an earthquake that near leveled the city, leading to a declaration of No Man's Land for a good while. Instead of rebuilding the entire city, many sections had simply been slated over and Gotham was rebuilt on top of it. Because of this, certain areas of the city hosted a secret underground of sorts for those who knew how to find it. The entrances themselves, well he had only found the one before which allowed him vehicle transport, many more required a good deal of crawling or squeezing through tight spaces. It wasn't the easiest to come and go, but this was precisely why the underground made such a particularly good hiding place. Once one was able to reach the areas of undercity, and so long as one had the tools and skills to avoid winding up on the wrong end of the undesirables who made this place their home, the rest was scarcely difficult. Why, some of the houses down here were still mostly in tact, and a few buildings even had electricity.

Very few people came down here. Several had made it their home, but these were the dirt and grime covered refuse of the city, slinking above ground only when they must for resources lacking in the rubble and condemned buildings. A safety hazard, this place would no doubt be ranked, and each entrance sealed for "public well being". No one those above liked to take notice of to begin with. No one who would be missed. A smile slipped comfortably onto his face at the thought of them. Out there just waiting to taste his designs. As strange as had been the events of the last few days, he was finally growing at ease again. Confidence and comfort each settled upon him, even a slight whistle working on his lips as he adjusted the Bunsen burner flame.

He felt it before he caught a glimpse of the figure from the corner of his eye, the familiar prickle over flesh. He set quickly to ignore it, continuing with his measurements and adjustments.

"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all night?" Upon address she stepped from the inky depths, and he spared a glance to note the change in wardrobe. She had ditched the uniform and over-sized t-shirt in favor of a dark gray knee length skirt and feminine button up blouse in a lighter shade with long sleeves. Her hair even looked as if it had been combed smooth, though legs and feet below the skirt were still bare to betray semblance of ordinary appeal.

"Dare I ask how you found me?" she didn't answer, drifting closer instead with focus on the beakers and vials and bubbling liquids within. No, of course she kept her secrets. He was growing more accustomed to these little quirks, the same way he had grown accustomed to Ivy and Clayface. There were many unusual things in this world, and while he would be glad to discover the cause for it he could for the time settle for accepting things as they were.

"What does this do?" she was reaching to pick up a container, but his hands were quicker to prevent the disruption to the chemical flow, voice laced with authoritative warning,

"Don't touch that, you could blow us sky high with the wrong move. Particularly if you don't know what you're doing." That last part held extra bite and a glare in her direction, his posture hovered protectively over the equipment. She just smiled.

He had noticed since the change a difference in all mannerisms. Jessica had been reserved, distant, carefully closed off. But when she had looked at him there had been something almost akin to, what? It hadn't been a look he was accustomed to. Warmth? Admiration? What ever it had been, the looks to her eyes now were not. The face seemed ever contorted in perpetual amusement, as if she knew something he didn't. The haughty air it gave her, combined with the towering height, only made his eyes narrow all the more as he tried to move her out of touching distance from his current project.

"Stay over here." he instructed with no attempt to hide the irritable notes.

In the next moment he felt a hand snap to his neck, having no time to place his own between the fingers curling around his throat before the grip was compressing his airways and he was dragged closer to her, a turn of events which happened too quickly and unexpectedly for him to do much more than gape up at her and grip the hand and wrist from instinct with his own.

"W-What are you-" he tried to wheeze the question, but was cut off by a growl, the toxic green orbs flicking over his features in manic succession as he fought to keep air circulating through his lungs. His head was already beginning to swim, the gaze reminding him more of beast than woman, and he felt for a moment there was genuine chance she might devour him whole.

"What are you doing?" the voice was inhuman, a deep rumble barely distinguishable as speech, but he made it out, eyes closing as his pulse speed. Where had this strength come from? What had she done to gain it? What had she done? He could still just manage words.

"Jessica-"

"Who?" the grip tightened, and then as quickly as she grabbed him he was released, losing his footing and coughing through the sudden release and return of oxygen.

"Oh, right." she said it so casually, attention turned back to the beakers as he rubbed at his neck.

"Is it supposed to be doing that?" he glanced up and noticed the reaction about to double over, ignoring the sore throat to rush over and turn off the flames, this batch had a good chance of being inefficient now. Waste of materials. He'd been careless, he couldn't let his guard down around this...Jabberwocky anymore than he could all the other rogues of Gotham, and he couldn't rightfully say that the power at her disposal now wouldn't place her among their ranks swiftly. She was already smiling again, as if the exchange hadn't happened at all. Whatever she was, stable wasn't in the equation.

"I thought you liked me." That was what she had said before. He needed to get her talking, buy himself enough time to get to his scythe.

"You seem upset?" yes, most certainly unstable.

"Of course I'm upset, these ingredients and chemicals don't come cheap, and you just ruined-" she was already moving towards him, and this time he was nimble as can be to keep some space between them. It was almost a dance, carefully calculated steps to both approach and avoid one another, moving across the floor until at last his back found a wall. His scythe was right there. Could he reach it? Could he get to it without her notice? His mouth ran dry as she leaned in, as respectful of his personal space now as she had been before in the apartment.

"Tools of the trade...I must confess I find your methods...fascinating." a spark in those eyes, he gathered himself to speak once more. She was not the first being to corner him, and though his pulse was racing and palms sweating, he forced the confirmation from his lips without shake or shudder.

"I am the Master of Fear." he stood taller for the declaration, but once again those eyes were wildly flitting over his features, something akin to displeasure reflected there.

"Really?" he felt another shift, this time the lingering tingle over his skin became a rip and a pull, overwhelming sensation of powerful insect jaws gnawing beneath his skin, burrowing tunnels into flesh and he barely manage to hold back a scream. This isn't real, he reminded himself. It's some kind of tactile hallucination, he'd experienced similar from the first sampling of his own toxins, before he gained immunity to them, this was nothing new. He pressed the palms of his hands to his closed eyes in an attempt to focus and clear the sensation, but it only grew worse. There were hands, digging through his head, flipping through the folds of his brain as fingertips flipped through files in a cabinet.

"What are you- Stop it!" he told himself none of this was new, but still his hands came up to clutch at the offending sensation in his head, fighting to make it end as swiftly as it had begun.

He was back. He was back in that horrible place, back in those awkward limbs and ill fitting clothes. They were all around him, laughing at him again, crowing their insults and jeers, watching the fists land, throwing what they could find to encourage him to run faster. Run he did, he ran through the dirt road, slipped beneath the wooden slated fence and ripped through the corn fields. The husks whipped at him for the speed he moved, but he didn't stop until the jeering taunts were fare behind him and his lungs were burning for air. He didn't stop until his legs went weak and he collapsed with the effort into the clearing. He lay there for a long moment, staring up past the husks at the clear blue sky, tears staining his face and chest racked with each attempt to refrain the sobs.

"It's not fair...Why can't they just leave me alone?" he wiped at the tears and snot with his sleeve, wishing this silence would last forever. This solitude. Instead the familiar sounds of wings, dozens of pairs taking flight through the air, alerted him before the sky filled with the silhouettes. Crows. They were swarming above him by the hundreds, black feathers raining down. Sharp beaks and beady eyes ravenous. The voice which came from within the swarming mass cut through him.

"You'll have to pray, Johnny. You'll have to pray." Another voice joined the first, shrill laughter of a girl, joined soon by the masculine laugh track. Grandmother. Sherry. The jocks who made his life hell. As he heard them speak, his jaw set and fists clenched. They were dead. He knew they were dead because he had killed them. He picked himself up from the ground, and as he rose he became. The ill-fitted attire stretched and grew over his skin as he grew, until the Scarecrow was grinning up beneath his mask at the swarm of black above him. The children from school were still taunting and jeering at him the name, but he reached his hand out beside him and in it appeared his scythe.

"That's right." he chuckled darkly, and swung the scythe in a well practiced motion through the murder of crows.

The illusions, which is exactly what they were, melted away. In there place stood the Jabberwocky, the scythe in his hands poised at her neck and his gaze steady.

"You will have to try much harder than that, to unnerve me." he boasted with a chuckle, for which she tilted her head. She responded far too cool for someone inches from loosing their head.

"Is that what you think I was doing?" she waited for him to answer, but this time it was his turn to let the silence sit. At least until he alone was satisfied in breaking it.

"Your illusions may be impressive to those of little education, but you'll find-"

"Those weren't illusions. They were evidence." His gaze narrowed to fine slits and he moved the blade to let it begin to bite into skin over that which had already scared over.

"Evidence of what? No riddles this time, answer me clearly. One riddle obsessed maniac is more than enough for this city." The blade forced her chin upwards, even though she was still taller than he was. Yet her gaze remained steady.

"Of my presence. In your life." she was smiling, and then she was gone, and he was wheeling and turning, ready to slash through her this time where she reappeared. She was still speaking, but the voice echoed from all locations.

"I was there for yours as I was there for hers. And so many others." he couldn't pinpoint her, grip tightening at the ready.

"I watched you. Shaped you. Helped you grow. I was there when the children threw their stones and slung their words. I was there when your grandmother handed you the suit and locked you in church with the crows to peck at your tiny screaming form until she was satisfied. I was there beside you in the darkness." how could she have known all that? Had he spoken his visions aloud? He was sure he hadn't, which could only prove on possible suggestion.

Psychic phenomena, he remembered at last. Telepathy, perhaps as well. It didn't explain the disappearing act or physical changes, but it explained the rest.

"I'm not convinced. Your words are easy, for one who can read minds."

"I can't read minds. Only fears." she reminded. He felt a shiver, fingertips ghost up his spine, turning swiftly but finding no one. She continued, her voice taking on a tone of familiarity to match the words,

"I have been beside you all this time. You. Are." he felt her behind him, swinging his weapon in full circle only for it to stop short. One of her hands had extended to catch the shaft as it swung, and she was once again close enough that he could feel her breath over his skin.

The other hand she extended this time did not close around his windpipe. It cupped the his face in a motion that perhaps some might have mistaken for tender. Though his heart managed to speed even further with the touch, he wasn't convinced she wouldn't attack him again, even though the single word came breathless.

"Mine."

He had no response. No one had ever claimed him, no one had ever wanted to, he didn't know what to react with. One moment she seemed fit to strangle him, the next she looked all but ready to, dare he think, lean in for a kiss? His eyes lingered there, on the thin lips and scar stretching over the left side of her face from the corner of her mouth. At last he found a word,

"Explain." and was returned a coo and shiver of her shoulders, the hand gripping the scythe pulling it from his grasp with only slight resistance on his end. Instead of leaning in more she pulled away with a flourish, playing with his weapon as if it were little more than a baton.

"Well I haven't always been here like this, you see."

"I do not." she seemed distracted. Could he hope to escape from her like this? Could another attack be successful? Would his toxins even work on her like this? She was too fast. If he had any hope of controlling this situation, he had to outsmart her. Couldn't be too hard for a genius and master tactician, he would just have to figure out and work around those unstable moments.

"I haven't always had flesh. It's entirely new. She gave hers, blood and flesh and mind, called me to this world." she examined an outstretched hand with the speech, muscles twitching erratically for a moment.

"Like a summons?" he doubted that. More likely this was some kind of grand delusion, she wouldn't be the first to claim such. Though she hardly lacked the power to back the words.

"Yes, precisely." she spun to look at him again, and he fought not to flinch, "but you didn't need any such magic." she was back by the work station again, eyes flitting over the pieces and poised over them, drawing back just before she could touch them and reappearing again in front of him, leaning down to eye level, "You found other ways. Pure science, chemical compositions," she was circling him excitedly, a hand coming up to grip fingertips on his head, "You crawl into their heads without magic. You were limited limited limited little human, but look how you grew." the hand left his head and both came to his shoulders, a touch away from sinking those sharp nails in though here it didn't seem deliberate, "so the question is: what has been standing in your way? You who have spread my name in purity so effectively?" she slid in front of him again, tipping up his chin gently with a curled index finger. He ignored the tangent and addressed the first.

"So Jessica summoned you. Gave you her flesh to use as your own."

"Yes."

"I don't believe in demons."

"But you do believe in fear." the smile split her face in half, filled with sharp teeth, a shark looming in the depths before you and the shore is miles away. He felt it again, the touch of emotion that had long eluded him before all but the Bat in the years most recent.

"And that's what you are? Fear?"

"Bound to flesh." the words sent a shiver through him his mind couldn't justify or dismiss quickly enough.

"Every day I grow. What is standing in your way, my Scarecrow? Very soon now, there will be nothing to stop me."

"Not even the Batman?"

"He can try."

"You're not the first to boast an ability to best him."

"Where science or magic alone have failed, we are combined together." the smile remained a monstrous slash as she leaned closer, a hand drifting to support the back of his neck, pausing just in front of him. He could almost swear she'd become a snake, and had only paused to try and evaluate if she could stretch her jaws over his form. His words betrayed him with barest hint of a quiver.

"What makes you think I'll agree?"

"Because like me, you want to drink in the screams of the world. You want them to quake and ache and shake before you." despite the appearance, despite the meaning behind the words, they had become a seduction. She poured into his mind a painting of a veritable feast which awaited him. Gotham on its knees, the two of them standing over the fallen masses. Even the Joker, for all his prior escapes from death, lay lifeless below them, his eyes reflecting a terror his smile could never match. Scarecrow held the empty and torn cowl of the Bat, and it was true. There was nothing to stand in their way. This vision too faded, eyes shining confidently above the ghastly slash inches from his face, beneath the veil of hair that was suddenly too human for the face before him. It didn't match.

"Will you run from me?" this time he moved closer, smirking at the reaction of uncertainty that flicked into the gaze. It gave him enough confidence to take another full step forward, watching her take one back.

"Now why would I run?" he chuckled, and noticed she lost an inch of height. She no longer had to lean down for them to be eye to eye, the smile fading back down to ordinary lips, the sharp teeth only just peeking from the gap between them.

"If you've been beside me all this time," the change gave him enough confidence to return her prior gesture and place a hand on the back of her neck beneath the hair. Her skin was cold, but he didn't pull back, "Then why change things now?"

They froze like that, each evaluating the other. He wondered if, should her prior words ring true, the physical form would still allow heart to race. He tried to re-position his hand without her notice to find a pulse. She had one before, would that have changed to? She had breath, though was she holding it now? Even if what she said was true, she was not without the limitation now of physical form, what emotions would that include? She hadn't been sure he wouldn't try to run, perhaps expected it. Confusion lingered, barely brushed over body posture for only the observant to notice. She was evidently as accustomed to this kind of treatment as he was. Or was it that she was limited to such experiences of the host, if all she could read in others were their fears? Was anything tender still foreign? Did it frighten her? He found himself leaning in to those parted lips, curiosity taking hold, scientific mind wanting to know what would happen. He felt her stiffen under his hand, felt no breath from those lips to confirm it was indeed held, and remained held for the brief moment the two sets of lips touched. Nothing elegant, no fit of passion, a simple press of skin which she didn't respond to at all. When he pulled back he had just enough time to catch a glimpse of bewilderment, before her face was back to the lingering amusement he'd come to understand now must be her default setting.

"I've already joined you." Now she smiled, and this time it didn't split her face. Instead her entire focus instantly shifted to the excitement of task and what results it would produce.

"Well then, we best get to work." she once more cupped his face with an icy hand, if short in contact this time, "tell me, what is your experience with explosives? I rather think them a lovely human invention, which will make the task at hand all the easier."

"It's not my particular area of expertise."

"Hmmm, will it be hard to find and convince someone to donate?"

"Not at all. What did you have in mind?" So she had some kind of plan after all. Her grin was easy to mirror, perfectly sinister and delighted at the thought of things to come.

"Lets simply say, I do so admire the dark ages."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** Heroes, things are almost coming to a close.

* * *

Jason was still working on the book, but was close to cracking it. There were reports of a double homicide, and a survivor who spoke of a terrifying woman calling herself the Jabberwocky. Word was spreading fast, uncertainty over if this was some crazed vigilante eager to kill who had saved this woman's life, or just another for the rogue gallery who happened to show mercy this once. Either way, Bruce found himself paying a visit to the former home of the one responsible. It looked like only the mother, or step mother, was home. She was sitting on the bed in Jessica's room, stifling sobs and didn't notice he had come in yet.

"I can't believe it." she sounded nervous under the tears, but it suited her, as if she were a woman constantly on edge. Tim mentioned the father, her husband, being less than civil. She noticed the movement then, giving a start and dropping the picture frame she had been looking over, standing and declaring his arrival breathless.

"It's you." He was used to this reaction, she recovered swiftly enough, setting the image back in place on the nightstand. Mrs. Milner looked the motherly sort, round inviting features making her soft, her attire modest and all but wanting for an apron. But she also looked worn down, and he noticed immediately the way she used makeup and long sleeves to try to hide the bruises.

"Have you found her yet?" her gaze remained trained to the floor, and he took note to move slowly so as not to startle her, to use just a touch less growl in his voice. He wasn't there to hurt or scare her.

"Not yet."

"Oh. It's not true, what they're saying, is it?" He didn't need to answer, but she gave nod and pressed her eyes closed with a sigh. She didn't really need him to deny or confirm.

"It's my fault. I should have protected her." She turned away, the tears falling again and hand coming to her mouth.

"It's not your fault-"

"But it is! It was my job to protect her, to look out for her, but it wasn't enough! I tried to tell him he was being too hard on her, but he wouldn't listen. He never listens." The last was a whisper, her arms hugging herself with a shiver, "Jessica's a good girl. A bit closed off, but she works so hard. I fought for her to go to Arkham instead of Blackgate, even though she wouldn't see me. She just needs help is all. You'll get her help, won't you?" for the first time her eyes found his cowl, and he gave a nod to reassure her.

"That's what we want to do, but we have to find her first. Do you have any idea where she could have gone? Is there any chance she'll show up here?" Mrs. Milner shook her head, gaze averted again.

"No. I don't think she wants anything to do with us." Her eyes were focused on the image of a smiling young girl with a peaceful woman, what must have been her biological mother.

"I think I always knew. I could never even try to replace her real mother, but I still always hoped she might come to love me." A dream that was little more than a death rattle now. He held out a card for her, which she accepted.

"You shouldn't blame yourself. You've done everything you can. Even if she doesn't say it, I'm sure somewhere deep down it's reassuring for her to know you care." He reached a hand to place on her shoulder, slow enough that she almost didn't flinch.

"If you ever want help for yourself, call that number. You're not alone, there are people who can help." He knew he couldn't force her to get help, or get out, of what was obviously an abusive marriage. There were resources if she found the courage to take them, but he knew from experience he couldn't force someone to see the light. If he could, Harley would have left the Joker's side long ago.

"Thank you." As he pulled away her hand reached out quickly for his, "Please, help my girl."

"I will do everything in my power to help her." This earned a heartbreaking half smile beneath her tears and a nod, a quick squeeze of his gloved hand as she turned to let him go.

He had barely returned to the batmobile before the com was ringing out. It was Jason Blood.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"I have, you'd better meet me here."

"Already on my way." It took less than ten minutes to reach Jason's shop, noticing the chiseled man with distinctive white streak of hair was already standing outside the shop with Tim, each waiting for him. He parked the car and climbed out, cape billowing out behind him as he approached, and not liking the tense look on Jason's face. True, from what he knew of the man he wasn't the jovial type, but something about the thin lines reminded him all the more of the fact that they were dealing with a subject he already despised. The last thing he needed was to be told,

"It's bad."

"How bad?"

"Well at first the spell was looking like some kind of summons, an invitation for possession." Something Jason would know much about, sharing his body with Etrigan the demon.

"People volunteer for possession?" Tim was taken aback, earning a stern nod from the older,

"Generally only those desperate enough, but yes. Given the right circumstance there are forces and rituals which will take advantage. But here's the thing, you see I thought it was a summons for a demon."

"It's not?" the more this conversation progressed the less he liked it, and he already didn't like it plenty. As Jason opened his mouth to answer, they all felt something in the air. A tingle of power, looking up just in time to see a golden object streak through the sky above them.

"What was that?" Tim was the only one of the three who didn't recognize it instantly. The tension in the air doubled as Batman ran back to the batmobile to give chase, leaving Jason to answer the perplexed Tim Drake.

"That, was the helmet of Fate." He pulled up to Jason and opened the passenger side for him.

"Get in, we've got an appointment with a doctor." And he didn't want to be without the backup, considering his last run in with Fate. This was getting out of hand. Tim knew to follow along but had his own ride. Batman's hands clenched the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles would be white beneath the gloves.

"What are we dealing with?" he didn't exactly mean to bark it, but hell if this wasn't going from bad to worse fast.

"I was trying to say, she didn't summon a demon. She summoned-"

* * *

The Helmet of Fate left the batmobile far behind, snaking between the buildings in ways a vehicle on the streets couldn't keep up. Soon it found what it was looking for, the unsuspecting man taking out the trash for the evening had no chance to react or refuse. Fate had the body it needed, pure ordered power rippling out from where it now stood.

"Imbalance has come to Gotham. Primal forces which should not be, focused and molded into form. Balance must be restored." Now with host, Fate reached out and felt for the disturbance in the city. As it was located, a glowing golden ankh appeared behind him. The boy on his motor bike had been able to keep better pace, unnoticed by Fate as the portal opened and he stepped through. Robin had just enough time to calculate a leap from his bike, using the momentum to push through the portal just before it could close.

He landed in a roll and was quick to move to the shadows, stealth activated to trail the mysterious man in gold. Something about this guy had seriously spooked Bruce, who's intercom had cut out when the light had rippled through the city.

"Batman, come in. Can you hear me?" he whispered into the link, but there was still nothing beyond static. He was on his own.

"I know you are there, child." He froze and waited, but when the golden helmet turned in his direction it was obvious he was found out. Instincts jumped, reaching for his battle staff in case he should need it.

"Calm yourself, I mean no harm. But you are unequipped for the battle to come. I suggest you leave." The calm dismissal did little to make him back down, instead quickly falling in step to follow.

"Wait a minute, just who are you? What battle?"

"I am an agent of order. Set forward to right the wrong, the rip torn in the fabric of this world."

"You mean Jessica, don't you?" he received no answer, the "agent of order" pausing to listen it looked like.

"I can help!"

"Doubtful." Fate raised a single hand behind him for only a moment, and Robin found himself running into a wall he couldn't see.

"Hey! You don't know all the information!" He tried to work past it but the wall remained immovable.

"Stay here child, out of harm's way." Tim couldn't believe he'd been dismissed so easily! Yeah, sure he wasn't adept at magic, but that didn't mean he lacked plenty of other skills. More determined for being told no, he set to work trying to find a way around the barrier.

Fate had followed the trail, it was easy to pick up on. The darkness which lingered and clung to the atmosphere, which poisoned and tainted the world where ever it touched. He followed the trail right to the form, and it didn't notice him yet. A piece of pure fear had been ripped from where it belonged. The force had been crammed haphazardly into a human form, and that human was broken. Cracked and peeling, the thick black and green mist poured from those wounds and surrounded it. No human was meant to harness such a force, not without a proper tether, not the way this had been done. This, was an abomination. Human and supernatural alike would suffer for the way they had been bound, each fighting and yet clinging to the other in an existence which would do more than tear itself apart, it would take as much of the world down with it. As unfortunate as this was for the human, Fate couldn't let the inevitable continue.

"Stop!" his command made the skittish creature give pause, turn gaze to him from the box it had been fiddling with. Wild and mad and chaotic, the gaze was as damaged as the vision of form he had been granted, the veil he was able to see past.

"Twisted creature, poor soul, prepare yourself." He suspected it would resist, despite his intentions being to return it to where it had come from. Insanity lingered, the laugh which bubbled forth already an assault upon his own form, making him wince. It inhaled deeply, and let out words which were almost a moan,

"You smell like magic. I wonder what you taste like."

The creature was flying at him, but he raised his hands and summoned barrier to stop it. It worked to reach and stretch that vile energy around his barrier, claws raking at the wall between them with bestial ferocity and primal screech.

"You cannot hope to defeat me." He lashed out with the golden power at his disposal, forming blades of pure magic which moved forward to slash through the energy pouring towards him. The creature let out a shriek of pain, but he kept to his onslaught. He stepped forward as it slunk away, glad to have found it so quickly. It had indeed been growing. If much more time had passed, perhaps this battle would be more formidable. As it stood the darkness was still weak, and confused, enough for it to be able to be hacked away piece by piece. He had it cornered now, huddled and staring at him with manic hatred, confusion lacing the growl which was barely speech,

"Why can't I devour you?"

"Because you aren't strong enough." This would be over soon. So why did it smile at him? Why did his stomach lurch, and what was it looking at now?

"Aren't strong enough yet."

"Too bad you won't have time-" something was surrounding him now. A green mist, thick and swiftly filling the area entirely. The fear creature was laughing again.

"What magic is this?" He extended a hand to summon wind to blow the area clear, but had been so focused on the creature he didn't notice the human approach. A human which now spoke as the world began to spin.

"Not magic. Science." He sensed human, but the vision before him was that of a Scarecrow. A vision which twisted and converted and made the world spin. What was happening? His human body dropped to all fours and he barely resisted vomiting inside the helmet. Tremors made it impossible to stand again.

"No, stop!" he reached for the pair but couldn't hear himself over the hum which filled his ears. The two escaping were tinged in a purple haze, just before the world melted into heart stopping visions of cats snarling at him from the shadows. Birds, raptors, swooping down at him with sharp talons. Snakes appearing to coil around his limbs and hold him in place as the other two were escaping. He fought to rise and give chase, but the world had melted into the beasts which now burdened him.

His task was not done yet. He couldn't stop, not until this oncoming tragedy could be stopped. Not until the piece of primal fear was severed from form and returned to the ether which it had been ripped from. Order, must be restored.

* * *

 **AN:** So for those unaware, I just tossed in some effects from an actual hallucinogen under the name Banisteriopsis. When combined with other substances for a specific combination, it causes the above symptoms, and is one of the only known hallucinogens which ALWAYS produces terrifying visions of cats, birds of prey, and serpents no matter who uses it. Naturally when I learned about this, I thought it would be the perfect kind of thing for Crane to learn and wield. It wasn't too hard for him to figure out the formulas and tweak them to his specifications, making it faster acting for one.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** One more chapter after this. This one will jump between perspectives a bit, I'll separate that change with a line.

* * *

When the magic in the area faded, the com link came back up. Tim took a look around to determine they were in the power plant, informing Batman and Jason so they could meet there. Mr. Agent of Order was down for the count, it looked like thanks to Scarecrow's toxins.

"I tried to warn you." He'd been carrying antidotes with him since they'd begun looking for Crane, administering one to Fate and taking a look around while he recovered. It wasn't hard to notice the electrical box that didn't belong, he recognized what it was instantly. Closer inspection showed the bomb wasn't armed, however, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, he'd been learning some disarming techniques, but that didn't mean he wanted to have to use them.

"Hey Bats, I've got an unarmed bomb set up here. Don't know if there are more in the building, we'll probably want to do a sweep-" his words were cut off by a distant explosion.

"Not good." The other ones they planted must have been armed after all. He rushed to Fate's side, who was making picking himself up.

"Come on big guy, we've got to get out of here!" he still seemed woozy, though Tim was much smaller he still tucked under his arm to help get him to his feet. The explosions were getting closer fast, they needed to move. A groan from Fate, Tim working to get him towards the exit, the explosions were coming closer, his ears ringing with the sound and feeling the heat waves radiate through the air. They needed to move faster, or they weren't going to make it. He pulled to a stop when he noticed the bomb just four feet from them, the light blinking quickly. It was about to blow, without thinking about who he was with or if they were capable or not, Tim swung to put himself between Fate and the explosion which sounded no more than a second later.

They didn't go up in smoke. They weren't even thrown back by the force of the blast. When he opened his eyes to look around, they were outside of the plant, several other workers gathered in the area as well who had heard the explosions and fled. He rushed to the nearest worker,

"Are you alright? Is there anyone left inside?" the woman was catching her breath, an injured man slung over her shoulder. Tim helped her set him down as she answered,

"I don't know. I think we all got out? There aren't a lot of us on the night shift." He gave a nod, looking up in time to catch the batmobile pull up.

"Fire trucks and ambulances are on their way." Batman informed as he jumped from the vehicle. Tim gave a nod and felt a firm hand on his shoulder, turning to see Fate had recovered.

"Your heart is true. Perhaps I was too hasty in my words earlier." The other two caught up.

"Fate." Jason was first to greet.

"And who's body did you steal this time?" Batman's grunt even less welcoming than the first address.

"It is necessary. I had almost returned the fear creature to the place which it belongs."

"You didn't finish?" Jason.

"I was…interrupted."

"Scarecrow." Batman.

A silence hovered between them all, glancing back at the factory. Before they could question the purpose of this, several more explosions could be seen in the distance, down the hill from the plant. They watched as the lights of the city began to switch off, one section after the other, until the whole of the city was in darkness.

"This is just the beginning." Batman knew how these things worked by now. This couldn't be all Crane was planning. He would never take part in anything so simple as to stop here.

"Yes, this is merely a way to spread chaos. It will feed on the terror which comes of this, and through that grow stronger. We can't allow that."

"Gentleman," Jason stepped between them all, "It seems we have quite the task before us. It would be most adventitious to work together now and settle any…discrepancies later." That look was for Batman. Deal with putting the Helmet of Fate away, right now they needed him.

"The police can help regain control of the city. I know some people who will help get power restored as fast as we're able. Robin and I will take care of Crane, you two-"

"Will handle this Jabberwocky nonsense." Jason finished.

"Jabberwocky?" Fate hadn't heard the name it was using, "fitting, considering the craze it showed." His gaze drifted out to the city.

"It seems to be hiding itself for the moment. I dealt a good deal of damage. When it recollects itself, it will no longer be able to hide from me. This gives us time to prepare, with every moment our task grows more difficult."

"What's the plan?" Batman's dark tones implied not just a lack of trust, but a suspicion.

"The ritual I translated involves primal forces. Those forces need to be removed from their host and returned to where they belong." Fate gave a nod at the explanation.

"But what will that do to Jessica?" Tim spoke up now, picking up on what had Batman so nervous.

"We can't know for certain." Jason didn't much like admitting it, Fate was colder in the reaction.

"We will do what is necessary, but these forces are not things to be trifled with. It's very likely she is already gone."

"You mean, dead?" They had both promised Mrs. Milner they would help her. Was she really already dead?

"And now we must prevent others from joining her."

* * *

Crane didn't know who the guy in gold was, just that he had been able to do something unseen to Jabberwocky. He hadn't been immune to his toxins, which was the only way they managed to get out of there before the charges went off. She seemed to be alright now, and they made it to the hidden bunker nearby, ready to lay low until the heroes had to go down and tend to the city. It should be in darkness now, all the people below confused. And then, the longer it takes for that power to return, fear would begin to set in. Some would no doubt see the opportunities, take advantage, and the panic would grow. They would wait until the heroes were good and gone for certain before going down to revel in the results. Batman was right, this was only the beginning.

"That could have gone worse." He chuckled to himself, removing gloves to light the lamp and glance about their hide away. It was less a bunker per say and more a room, a hole, dug into the ground. But that made little matter, it did the job of concealment. There was a shelf with some canned goods, a few boxes on the far end, and a single cot with rusted metal legs. A spider skittered over the floor to hide from the intrusion of lamp light, but neither guest was bothered by such as that.

He was about to speak again, when he noticed the change in his otherworldly companion. She had shrunk back down, and was sitting with her back to the dirt wall and knees to her chest, hugging them. Her face was buried into her knees and under the hair, but he knew the eyes would be back to normal again. She was rocking back and forth, if slight.

"Jessica. I see you're back." He was perfectly adjusted to the changes between them by now. She didn't answer him, only allowing a rigid nod without losing the pose. Tiny little mouse, frightened little shivers. The blouse was a bit too big for her like this, the skirt and bare legs adding to the impression. She looked like a child, huddling in the dark against the monsters, but the monster was already inside her. The monstrous Scarecrow was already here beside her in the dark.

"You don't seem very happy with the results." She stopped swaying. Her voice was all but a whisper, he leaned in to hear it better.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought, from your previous boasts, this little transformation of yours is what you wanted."

"It is." She lifted her face from her knees. Dark circles made her eyes seem sunken in, and her skin was gaunt and sickly.

"This is-" she couldn't finish the sentence, turning away from him in a fit of coughs and somehow having stomach contents to lose. When she turned back and wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, it wasn't stomach contents she lost. She had none. He snapped a hand out to catch her wrist, dull eyes flicking up to him from behind the bloodied skin. She was burning to the touch again.

"This is killing you." Her gaze sharpened, and she tried to yank her wrist and blood stained fingers from his grasp, but she was too weak.

"It's my life to give." When she failed to reclaim the hand she settled for looking away from him stubbornly.

"You didn't have to give it at all. You showed promise. I could have taught you." He let go of her, and she drew back the arm and rubbed at the skin which was already bruising. He hadn't meant to grip that hard, or was it just an effect of…all this?

"You would what? Protect me? That's what she said."

"No, I would teach you how to protect yourself." She flinched at his words. She was petrified. Not of him. Not of spiders or rats or madmen. Of her own actions. She had no room to fear him, when she was her own worst nightmare. Her words lost all fight as quickly as she had found it.

"It's too late for that now. I tried. I tried so hard, and it was never enough." She turned away. She didn't have to tell him who was responsible or what had been done. He was familiar all too personally with the end results. _I was there for yours as I was there for hers_ , the creature had said. He was reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, when she straightened up and turned back to him, making him quickly withdraw the outstretched digits.

"It's better this way," she forced a smile, "I'm much more useful like this." Her attention drifted upwards and outwards. He wasn't sure how much time was left before the other would return. If her state was degrading each time she broke through, he wasn't sure Jessica would ever return again. She gave her flesh. She gave her life. He supposed it could have been him. If he had placed his faith in magic instead of science. Real or not, she paid the price and got results. If he felt like this had been his only option at her age, would he have been desperate enough to try it? Yes. He would have. Sometimes you'll do anything to crawl from the hole you've been buried in. Even if it's just for a little while.

This time he extended both spindly arms, awkwardly wrapping them around her folded frame. She tensed at first, but after a moment leaned back and relaxed with a sad sigh. He told her what he suspected she wanted to hear.

"You are good enough." She didn't answer, just brought a hand up to loosely grip his arm.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. Her skin burning under his touch and breath a labored wheeze from lungs. But eventually that breath slowed. Eventually the skin began to cool. He felt spider webs drift over every inch of his skin and heard the sickening crack of joints. Within his grasp the figure grew in hard jerks of motion and fidgeting stretch of limbs.

"How sweet." The creature hissed, turning back and nuzzling further into his arms. He frowned at it under his mask but didn't pull away. "She knew the price to pay," the creature tapped at the scar across the throat and made him recall the amount of blood which had soaked through her shirt at first meeting, "Why if it weren't for me she'd already be dead." So it made sense that it got her body, it implied. And let the girl out only when it suited to do such.

"The heroes should be gone. I've adjusted, it should be much harder for the sorcerer to find me now." It purred, and he gave a curt nod and pulled away to stand up. As soon as he had his space back he turned to find those unearthly green eyes staring at him again.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" the creature cooed, gaze aggressive and hinting that it wanted blood as talons played with the stitches in his mask.

"Not at all," he pushed the hand away, "it's as you said."

"Oh good." It grabbed his arms, turning into them and pressing back to him making the arms wrap around again, "I was almost worried for a moment there. When there's still so much to be done. It would be a shame to have to do all of it alone."

"But you're not alone."

"Too true." As he suspected, the moment he relaxed at the forced contact was the moment it pulled away from him.

"I'd race you, but I know you'd lose." It winked, and then hurried up the ladder and into the night above.

"You can see the stars now!" it called down to him. He took his time putting his gloves back on and putting out the lamp to follow.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN:** And the conclusion. Feel free to leave comments, It's not often I truly finish something of this length, so wouldn't mind hearing your opinions if you've managed to stick around this long.

* * *

Insect. Animals. See how they run, see how they scurry and fumble in the dark. Her bare legs dangled over the wall of the parking garage, seven stories up. She could hear the breaking glass from windows, see the numerous fires which dotted the horizon. The police had their hands full to be sure, from the beasts which took advantage of the setting provided. Her neck and the muscles in her arms twitched. Ticked. Jerked. The smile on her expression intoxicated on all the emotion drifting up to her. She inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh, alert thereafter to movement behind her.

"There you are, My Scarecrow." She knew perfectly well how much he disliked the lay to claim. She could all but see him cringe each time her lips pronounced the word. Yet by her side he had remained, the curious little human dressed and wrapped in straw. He came to stand beside her now, leaning on the edge to peer down at the unfolding chaos. He liked it to. He needed it just as much as she did, the cries and shouts and jump of flesh. The pure terror in their gaze. She didn't mean any insult to the earlier observation of them being animal. She too was a monster, a predator, a creature feeding on all which had been provided. They were all beasts.

"You seem to be recovered." His words were as flat as ever, perfect neutrality in the face of her crazed slash of a smile.

"Oooooh yes. More than better. The sorcerer will appear any moment now, and then I'll crush his mind within my jaws." In demonstration she let her face split in half, leaning down towards him with the rows of sharp teeth on full display. He didn't grant her so much as a shiver, looking right into the gaping orifice.

"I doubt he'll arrive alone. Perhaps I should attend to the sorcerer, and you can deal with the Bats who will come flapping about?" her smile returned to an ordinary semblance and gaze returned to the city.

"I will devour the sorcerer. You will deal with the humans."

"Are you sure that's wise?" another series of twitches wracked through her flesh.

"Very well. We'll do it your way." With a girlish sigh her head tilted to rest on her shoulders, eyes unblinking and focused.

"I'll send them the invitation."

Invisible claws, invisible jaws. A cold radiated out from her that did draw a shiver from her companion in chaos, his grip tightening on the ledge and knees almost buckling beneath his slight weight, but he was not her focus. The wind extended out and downwards. It rushed and gained in speed and power alike with each sack of flesh it brushed against. She had been weak, when she first entered this human girl. The girl had been nothing. Worthless. Frail and spent. Perhaps the Jabberwocky would never again be at full strength as it had originally anticipated. Or perhaps the girl had done the ritual wrong. The flesh had begun to decay the very moment of their joining. All the same she was here now. The people below felt the presence, felt the warp in the very atmosphere, and reacted. Those who had been free of panic before, those who had been safely hidden away, none were safe any longer. With each who she touched, they contributed, with each breath they took she grew in power.

"What's it like?" it took her a moment to recognize he was speaking at all, let alone to her.

"Do you remember that first time? That rush of power when their car careened into the ditch? Amplify it. Satisfaction, does not even begin to describe this." In no small part because satisfaction was impossible. The more you had, the more you wanted, and the more what you had wasn't enough. Perhaps an addiction, was more apt of a comparison.

"Do you want to see?" her smirk was a challenge, far more dangerous than seductive, though his interest had been captured.

"I can show you. It's the least I can do in the face of your loyalty."

"I don't see how." She could see the wheels turning in his head as the people below them screamed. He was calculating, ever calculating, the risk involved. Did she mean what she said, or was this another prelude to violence? Was the reward worth the risk? He didn't pull away as she leaned in. Opportunity. He wanted what she was selling no matter how much he also wanted to remain in assumed control. Perfect. Because this shell, for as much power as she bragged having in this feeding and this moment, was rotting. She had the distinct impression that a new host might just be the rout to go. Somewhere deep inside, what little was left of the human was wailing her protest. Livid, distraught, but now as ever unable to do a thing to stop what was happening. Yes, let the Jabberwocky leave behind one shell for a stronger one, now that it had been brought into this world. She had full attention on the chapped lips behind the sliced burlap and coarse threads. She could get to them even without removing the mask.

"All you have to do, is let me in…" her own lips were parting, but he pulled away from her before she could begin.

"So you can possess me as you did Jessica?" so the nonbeliever wasn't a fool after all, his blade once more poised at her throat to further his warning tone.

"To be fair, you're much less likely to parish." Her fingers tapped the scar across the throat and grin remained.

"So it's true then. She's dead." The Jabberwocky tried to decipher if he cared or not, but as ever his words gave her nothing. She could only read apprehensions. She had no way at all of knowing what emotion lingered in that phrase.

"I thought you were the Master of Fear. Surely you'd do better than some suicidal wretch." She'd meant it as a compliment but the hiss she was returned said she'd miscalculated.

"I'll pass. I think I prefer this arrangement." She couldn't have that, at last the smile faded. Fine. She didn't need permission. One hand knocked away the scythe he wielded, the other coming up to grip his throat as the weapon skittered across the concrete of the rooftop. He was prepared this time, spraying her dead on in the face with his toxins as they tumbled down to the floor.

"What use are you to me like this? To anyone?" it was her turn to hiss, ignoring his futile attempts to squirm from her grasp.

"Let me in, Scarecrow, and you'll wield the full potential of terror." He wasn't even listening, struggling in the grasp.

"I have no interest in being some lying demon's puppet, unhand me!" just for fun she let him wriggle from her grasp. Just for fun she watched him crawl back towards his scythe, drank the panic dripping off of him with a laugh. He was in over his head. He'd underestimated what he was dealing with all this time, even though he'd been told from the beginning what she was. He just didn't want to believe it. Now, faced with no other choice, she relished the gasp when she appeared between himself and the objective he'd been moving towards. Watched him all but leap back and away. Watched him shrink as she closed in and whimper as she grabbed his collar and pulled him in.

"I don't need your consent." She leaned down towards him, set to press lips against lips, a kiss of life, when another energy made an attempt to assault her. It failed, but it gathered her attention to the golden helmet and true demon in red upon the rooftop now.

"She's mad, help me!" her prey cried out.

"Silence ye coward of fear! The beast draws closer, ever near."

"Your fight is with us." The Jabberwocky grinned, leaning in to whisper in the Scarecrow's ear,

"Don't worry, I'll always find you. You. Are. Mine." She dropped him, let him crawl away, and turned to face her opponents.

"You're going to have to try much harder than last time, I'm afraid." She licked her talon like fingers, and in the next moment the battle between demons began.

Clash of claws and blur of speed. Fire from Etrigan and light from Fate. The foes were each formidable, Crane using this opportunity to try and make his way to the fire escape, but finding Robin blocking his way.

"Leaving so soon?" the kid's confident smirk only made Crane that much more unhappy, unleashing his violent dancing and glad it wasn't Batman who'd arrived. The kid kept up with him, as he gradually made way back to his scythe.

"I'm just a side player here, can't you leave me alone?" Crane tried.

"That's never stopped us from taking you in before." he retorted smartly.

In the mean time the Jabberwocky was making heads.

"Combating the beast was our fatal flaw! Disperse my comrades we must withdraw!"

"Yes, back!" the two began to retreat down the car ramp, but the Jabberwocky was having none of it.

"Where are you going? I was only just beginning to play!" it shouted after them, oblivious to the two behind her as she gave chase. She tackled the fleeing demon, the two rolling in a flurry of claw and fang, her attempts to probe his mind yielding nothing as his flames scorched the flesh at her wrists and left the scent of burning flesh behind. She didn't bother to try to scream, knowing none would buy it. Instead she thrust her skull into his to drive him back, and stood.

"Is that the best you could do?" in her laughter, she didn't see the winged shadow sweep in from above, legs extended. She turned just in time to see but not avoid the collision, the two tumbling back, only Batman landing in a roll that allowed him to gain some distance. Her hands met with the concrete to break her fall, fingers scratching at the indention. They'd carved something into the ground. Something that tingled at her touch. She rose to her feet once more and jumped towards the Bat with an unearthly screech, only to be knocked back by an invisible barrier.

"No. How? How did you hide yourself from me, you miserable human?" she spat the words at the smug man, who responded all too calmly,

"Training." her eyes narrowed at it, Fate floating back.

"Now, lets get this over with. Abomination, return now to the void which you were called from!" The lad was returning down to them, a cuffed Crane in his grasp. It gave her an idea.

"Stop! If you get rid of me, the girl will surely die!" They cared about that, didn't they?

"Don't listen to that lying creature, Jessica's already dead." Crane spat to counter, earning his very own glare. Disloyal after all.

"She's not, but she will be without me."

"The human behind this knew the price. We can't allow this creature to stay in the world." Batman's gloved hand closed around one of Fate's extended wrists.

"I promised to help Jessica. There must be another way." Fate did little more than motion and Etrigan hurled a blast of fire at Batman, making him back away.

"The hour is far too late, she knew her fate." Etrigan would be his opponent, working to keep him and then Robin each away while Fate's spell began to take hold.

"You wouldn't sorcerer, you're a hero!" she shrieked.

"No, I am an agent of order." her eyes widened before the searing agony of the magic began to bore through her. The sorcerer and demon had been holding back on purpose. They only pretended to need to flee, all to lure her into this trap. She fought to resist even more than the two actual heroes fought to reach and stop the magic, but in the end she doubled over with a piercing scream. Crane, handcuffed to an abandoned car's bumper, gave a little sigh at the sound.

"Isn't that the most beautiful sound?" he'd wanted terror from the girl, he'd wanted it more from the creature she'd become. Even though he wasn't the source of it as he would prefer, the sound alone brought a satisfied grin to his unmasked face. Robin was just close enough to notice and spare an extra punch for him.

"Can you keep from being a creep just one day, old man?" he only spared the moment before jumping back in the fray and noticing one of Batman's codes, nodding and jumping into the combo they had practiced before. Batman let loose a projectile which Etrigan knocked from the path it was on towards Fate easily, but he didn't have time to intercept the redirect for it Robin provided, the Batarang colliding with Fate's helmet hard enough to make him stumble and nearly knock it off. Nearly.

"You're too late. My work is done." They all bore witness to the events within the circle. Above the terrified form of a human girl, a whirling mass of black and green smoke loomed. It expanded and worked to escape, but the magic of the circle kept it bound. With another wave of his hand, a light appeared above it, and it was sucked with a terrible screech back to where ever it had come from. Now the only tingle of magic in the air came from Etrigan and Fate, soon fate alone as Etrigan saw the deed done and chanted.

"Gone, gone O Etrigan! Rise again the form of man!"

"It's over." Fate declared, turning to open a golden portal and make his escape.

"Fate! Give back that man!" Batman knew better than to expect he would be listened to, so tumbled after Fate into the portal, determined that the man who had been taken would be able to return to his family. That left Robin to deal with the clean up.

"Bats!" no use. This time it was his turn to chase fate. He turned back to Jason, and noticed beyond him the empty cuffs.

"Hey! Where did- Ah nuts!" He spun to find not only Crane gone, but Jessica as well. While they'd been focused on Fate, they must have gotten off.

"They couldn't have gone far!" Figuring Jason would be fine on his own he was quick to give chase.

* * *

Crane wasn't sure why he was driving with the frail and broken form in the passenger side. Robin had, as usual, been easy to elude. They were right, it was over. There was no tingle of, dare he call it magic? He already referred to the power gained as demonic. It was an easier answer than finding the science to explain it away, something he no longer had interest in doing. The electricity flickered back onto the city as he weaved through the back-ways and around the abandoned cars or refuse. The police had put a stop to most of the rioting and returned order. Once she'd been contained in the circle must have helped. He had felt the atmosphere lift instantly, no doubt those below had as well.

"You should have taken my help." he lectured the frame which had shrunk back down, gaunt and sunken skin, unresponsive. She was already gone. But he pulled up to the hospital's back entrance anyways, and carried her from the car to the sidewalk, setting her down and retreating to the shadows. An orderly found her not five minutes later. He left before he could see what happened next. It was all over and done with. Another youth he could have guided, saved, taught. But as ever they chose death instead, in one way or another. Perhaps someday he would find someone who would walk the right path, but now was not the time. Scarecrow crawled into the drainage grate that lead down and around to the Undercity. He had work to do, which as ever needed no assistant.


End file.
